Dreamcatcher
by debbiewhy
Summary: Sansa has frequent nightmares and they only seem to go away when Sandor is with her. As Sansa is pushed around by Joffrey, Sandor sees it a requirement to take matters into his own hands. As they grow closer Sandor becomes a "dreamcatcher" of sorts.
1. Chapter 1

Sansa woke from her nightmare; her hair matted back with sweat, her breathing ragged, and her entire body shaking with fear. It had been another dream about Joffrey. It seemed he was the only thing that entered her dreams lately, and though she prayed to the gods for mercy, she found none in slumber. Wrapping her cloak around her small frame she paced her room. Should she go to_ him_? Would he even allow her to speak to him? Could she even find him in the castle? She must. When he was with her is was the closest she felt to safety.

Sansa opened her door that led into the long and dark hallway, and peered thought the crack looking for any possible danger. Joffrey no longer posted a knight at her door at night; he no longer cared if she was dead or alive. Ever since the murder of her father she felt nothing but hate towards Joffrey, and sometimes not even Sansa cared if she was to live or die.

Being held at King's Landing was much more painful than death. At least she would not be beaten, and kept from her family in death. At least she could see her father again. Sansa pushed those thoughts aside as she climbed stairs that lead to one of the castle's towers. She had once heard him talking about how much he liked the tower because most others in court stayed away. Sansa knew she shouldn't be aloe and wandering about the castle at these hours; it was dangerous. But she had to see him. She had to see The Hound.


	2. Chapter 2

The staircase led to rooms of all sizes. Some were completely bare, some sparsely furnished, others just balconies with no walls to protect one from falling over the edge and into the darkness below that seemed never ending.

Sansa heard not a sound as she continued to climb. She frowned at the silence, she had hoped to find some clue that would lead her to Sandor Clegane. Nearing the top of the tower, Sansa noticed a balcony with a single candle flickering in the center. Entering the doorway, and inching closer to the small light that the candle gave off, she also became aware of a small table and chair placed nearer the edge. Atop the table was a flask of wine. Her heart pumped faster; was this her clue?

Placed next to the wine was a small item Sansa could not clearly identify from her distance, and she again inched slowly forward. Near enough to now examine the small token, she leaned forward, her hand extended out to pick up the mysterious token when suddenly a cold wind swept through out the room. Sansa froze. She didn't dare to breath, let alone allow a gasp to escape when the cold wind was now so close. So close that her skin began to prickle with fear when she realized it wasn't wind she felt now; it was someone's breath.

"Little Bird," the man murmured as a hand gripped her shoulder to turn her round.

Sansa began to breath again, most of her fear now vanishing. She let out a sigh as her heart beat began to settle, "It's only you." Hand moving over her heart, she closed her eyes giving her thanks to the gods.

The hand on her shoulder now dropped. "Only me?" he chuckled. "When did I stop frightening you so, Little Bird?"

She gave a small shrug. Sansa gripped her cloak tighter around her. Here there was no fire to produce heat, and being exposed to the wind such as she was a coldness began to seep into her bones. The pain from the deep bruises she had received from Joff's "knights" the previous day pulsed in the frigid temps. Sansa grimaced at that, but she quickly recovered when she reminded herself she was safe here with The Hound.

He grinned, "You are quite clumsy and loud, girl. It's a miracle I'm the worst that found you." His voice was not angry, nor was it threatening. It was light, and Sansa could tell he wasn't trying to scare her on this night, but instead only jest. Sandor Clegane continued to smirk down at Sansa and though it made the side of his face that was singed twitch, she was not afraid to look at him as of late.

Sansa furrowed her brow. Usually he would have scolded her by now, especially for roving this castle not only by herself, but in the middle of the night during war.

He must have noticed her questioning look, for soon his smile faded and he backed away a small scowl in place. Crossing the cliff like balcony he swiftly grabbed his wine flask and small bauble from the table, sank down against the wall facing the staircase, and then offerred Sansa the seat with a shrug. She sat and looked towards Sandor. At his body; strong and powerful even without the protection of armor. At the way he meddled with his hands, as though he had a nervous tick. The way his hair fell in front of his face, and how his gray eyes peered through it at her. She hadn't been scared of him for a long while, and she had known that. Only now as they sat in silence, eyes joined, did she understand why.

She broke eye contact, as an internal struggle raged within her. The Hound? Of all men, she felt affection for _him_? He had always protected her, and never delivered a blow to her, and sometimes even made her smile. His face was terrifying to Sansa once, but now it seemed to tell his story, and made him appear even stronger in Sansa's opinion.

"Ser..." Sansa began.

"You well know I am no Ser." He growled.

Sansa hesitated before she began again, "Sandor..." She waited for his reaction, wishing he did not find her offensive or rude. He looked up, a sparkle in his eye. He liked that she had called him by his true name. "I had a dream."

"What about?"

Sansa tried not to cry as she recalled her dream, she was a Stark and Starks did not cry. "Joffrey."

The Hound rolled his eyes at the mention of the boy king, the spark she had ignited before was now absent. Sansa knew Clegane did everything his king bid him, but she wondered how true his loyalty was. Many served their kings, yet hated them, through and through. She had a hunch this was the case with Sandor. Sansa had a hunch this was the case with over half of Joff's court.

"It wasn't a good dream. He hurt me. Again."

Sandor's head snapped up. There was a pain in his eyes, and Sansa knew it was because he had been present almost every time Joff had her beaten. He may be cruel with his words at times, but Sansa believed with all her heart Sandor Clegane, the king's "loyal dog", would always try in his own way to protect her. He would never lay an ill hand upon her, this she knew. She dreamed him to be the knight that would one day stop Joff from harming her, but she knew the only result of this would be the demise of his own life. She would not have that.

"What happened in this dream Little Bird?" Venom laced his words.

"The same as in all the rest," she answered. Then Sansa allowed the barrier she had been harboring for many months to break, and at last she felt herself cry.

What a freeing notion crying was. A new one at that, but freeing nonetheless. Sansa felt as though everything that brought her pain was being washed away in those moments she wept. First her sobs were filled with sorrow and torment, they lasted as long as they should have. Then she shed tears filled with happiness. Sansa was still alive, and she knew should would escape this prison they called King's Landing at some point.

Sandor got to his feet and took a hesitant step towards Sansa, "Don't cry."

At this Sansa let out a laugh, she was making him uncomfortable. He had killed countless men in war, yet a young woman crying frightened him.

"I am finished," she stated, as she used her silken sleeves to dry her tears.

He kneeled before her and offered her a piece of cloth. Sansa took it and sniffled into it, and then rid herself of the wet paths that flowed down her cheeks and neck. On the corner of the cloth was the Clegane sigil, she fingered the fine pattern work before offering it back.

"Keep it."

She nodded her thanks and again they sat looking at one another in silence.

"Little Bird, it seems the night may soon end. You need to get back to your cage before anyone notices your absence."

They both rose and wordlessly made their way down the stairs.

"Sandor, I thought your keep was in the tower."

"So it is."

"I'm not in need of an escort, the castle is bare."

"Might've been when you first stared your wandering. Isn't now." He murmured, a hand on his sword, and his eyes searching for trouble.

Sandor and Sansa walked in silence side by side until they reached Sansa'a hallway. At her door Sansa turned towards The Hound, "I thank you for your service tonight, it was kind of you to make sure I arrived back safely, an-"

He started to retreat before she could complete her thought, but turned back to face the red haired maiden once more. "What were you even doing outside your walls, girl? You know how dangerous it is out there, I've warned you myself."

Sansa paused, panic rushing through her veins. She was going to have to tell him, he was not daft enough to believe a lie. "I was hoping to find you, my lord."

What could have only been confusion filled his face.

Sansa bowed, bid him a formal goodnight, and then closed the door on him. She smiled, for never before had she seen anyone stun The Hound into silence.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was rising already and Sansa knew she would not have time to fit a proper rest in before Joffrey called upon her. That didn't matter for she was wide awake, the close proximity to Sandor had her adrenaline high. She could not seem to get this man off her mind.

Sansa sat before her vanity, startled at what looked back at her. Her red hair was a snarled mess upon her head, no doubt thanks to the wind that filled the balcony she had been on most of the evening, and her cheeks and nose red from being exposed to the cold for so long. Sansa's small hands immediately ventured to the first section of knots. Her mother had taught her how to fix such messes without the use of a brush; brushes would tear Sansa's locks. Fixing her hair reminded her of her mother, of home, and Sansa immediately calmed. She worked mindlessly as her thoughts drifted off to better things...

A knock at her door jolted Sansa from her sleep; apparently she did have time to steal a few moments of rest.

"The King would have a word with you my lady." The knight's voice boomed from behind her barred door, and again he pounded against it as though he were her alarm.

"A moment I bid, Ser."

Sansa knew she wasn't in any way presentable. She wouldn't leave her room at Winterfell in this condition, let alone meet her betrothed King. Her hair was still knotted, her eyes puffy with sleep. She was still in her night shift for Lords' sake! Running to her wardrobe Sansa grabbed the first dress she spotted, it was lavender, and luckily Joff liked the way the color struck against her skin. It reminded her of the color the bruises that were fading near her ribs appeared, and she realized Joff probably liked the color for that exact reason.

She didn't have time to hand pick the knots, so she instead brushed through them quickly. Sansa gritted her teeth as the bristles resisted against the snags in her faine hair. By the time she was finished her hair closely resembled a lion's mane so she pulled it back into a simple Northern fashion. Looking herself over once more in her mirror she was satisfied, and unbarred her door. Stepping out to meet the knight that had summoned her, she came face to face with an enemy. It was not the Clegane brother she was so fond of. It was The Mountain. Gregor Clegane.

"Ah, my lady. You've finally emerged, and look at you; such a lovely sight to behold."

His eyes scanned her in a way that made her skin begin to crawl. While The Hound's eyes were grey and gentle, Gregor's were black and deadly. Two brothers, yet so very different. Sandor had told her how he had gained his burns, how Gregor had held his young face to hot coals over a silly toy. Sansa knew Gregor was evil, as evil as anything that could walk upon the lands.

He grabbed her shoulder and shoved Sansa down the hall. She tripped but regained her balance quickly, knowing if she fell to the ground he would kick her. What she didn't know was if she could survive a kick from a man the size of Gregor. She thought not, and prayed she would never find out.

"Joff's in a quite nice mood today. Quite nice."

Sansa did not react to The Mountain. She refused to let anything he said get through the barrier she had thrown up the moment she saw him outside her door.

As they entered the throne room, the crowd parted to make way for Sansa. She saw Sandor directly behind the throne, as usual, his eyes filled with anger as he noticed her being escorted by his brother. He glanced at Joff who was smirking, back to Sansa and Gregor, and then towards the ground. She noticed him form a fist and then release it, looking back up with a black expression.

Sansa kneeled before the king, "Your Grace."

"Rise you idiot," Joff snapped.

Sansa rose without falter at his jape, she knew better than to let his petty remarks get to her. Sansa noticed there was a much smaller crowd than usual in the hall this morning compared to most others.

"Everyone out," Joffrey commanded, "besides my darling Sansa, and my guards."

The room emptied as quickly as the command was given, and suddenly Sansa felt uneasy. Was she going to get beaten? Was this a setup?

"I have a proposition for you Sansa," Joff muttered, then taking a long swig of wine, "I say you stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours. I'm bored with you. Mother says you are of course to stay here in the castle, and we must remained betrothed, but I will have nothing to do with you until the day of our wedding."

Sansa swallowed, was Joffrey offering her freedom of a sort? Until her wedding night, she was free of this monster. The wedding had not even been given a date, they were at war and it could be many months before she was to be wedded.

"Out with you now."

Sansa bid her thanks and left the room, finally feeling the first signs of joy since her father had died. Her heart thumped against it's cavity. What was she to do now? She did not have to meet Joffrey later in the day, or sit by his side as he talked to peasants, or force a smile as he was entertained by jesters.

Before Sansa had left the room she had stolen a glance at Sandor, who's eyes were already on her, watching quietly. They were not quite as blank as he had forced them to appear minutes before, but he wore an expression she could not place.

The King turned around and bid him forward with a snap of his fingers. Sandor leaned down beside Joffrey and as Joff whispered into The Hound's ear, his eyes snapped wider with surprise and then landed directly back onto Sansa. Joffrey chuckled to himself also looking at Sansa, and Sandor stepped back into his place behind the throne never once letting his eyes venture from her until she exited.

She wondered what they had spoken about. Did Joffrey wish to trick her? What had shocked Sandor so? Sansa didn't know whether to be afraid or not so she did the only thing she could think of; she ran. She ran past her room, and past the dining hall, up stairs, through hallways and ended up some where she had not expected. She ended up in Sandor Clegane's balcony, the place she had spent so long in the very night before. She slumped into a ball in the corner, resting her head against the stone as she looked out into the countryside on the outskirts of King's Landing. She let herself rest, knowing no one but Sandor would likely find her here. Her eyes closed and she let the darkness claim her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

And with the onset of slumber came the onset of Sansa's nightmares. She dreamt she was stuck on a large marble floor, and no matter how persistent her efforts, she could not lift herself. She heard footsteps in her dream, heavy footsteps, and more than one pair. She then saw who the footsteps belonged to and screamed for she knew nothing but pain could come from these men. Sansa began to struggle against the floor, trying to get away from The Mountain but it was no use. She saw one of his boots swing back and then swing forward as it dug into her ribs.

Joffrey snickered as he knelt down to her ear, "How does that feel my betrothed? Good? Would you like for Gregor to do it again," he questioned, smug smile still intact, "I think you would. Again Gregor."

Sansa watched as the boot swung into her knee cap this time. She screamed in pain and anger, trying even harder to lift herself off the cold ground. No use. Another blow to her ribs, and then another into her hip.

A hand on her shoulder shook her from her dream. She gasped in a breath, her lung in protest as though she had really been screaming.

Sandor kneeled before her, "Trying to wake all of court are we Little Bird?"

She looked at him in bewilderment, "What? No, I promise- No, I was having a dream."

"Aye, another _nightmare_ it would seem," he corrected as he moved from being hunched infront of her, to leaning on the wall beside her.

Sansa played with the fabric of her dress, quite giddy at Sandor's close proximity. She stole a glance his way. His finger gripped the bridge of his nose as his head rested against the stone wall, eyes closed. He was stressed she realized, she recognized this stance; her father had often looked quite similar under pressure.

"Is something wrong?"

"Ah, Little Bird. Many things are wrong in this world, you of all people should know that."

Sansa hesitated, "Today...in the hall...What happened between you and Joffrey?"

"You caught that did you?" He asked, now meeting her sideways glance, a small sad smile playing his lips. "Not good news, not good news at all. It appears it would please the King to make you-" The Hound stopped talking and recomposed himself, "It appears the King would make you Gregor's new...play thing."

Sansa stifled a cry. She knew what Joffrey had given her earlier was a false jab at freedom. She had known it deep down the moment he has even suggested it. Joffrey knew how much Sansa wished to be free, and he played with the fact. For a moment Sansa thought she felt her heart break within her. She was a wolf, a Stark, she would fight this she told herself.

"I can't," She wept, moving her hands to her face trying to hide her tears. Sansa could not take this fate, this was surely a cruel game to Joffrey. Her honor and life meant nothing to him in the slightest.

Sandor grabbed one of her hands, "I know you can't. I know that."

He squeezed hard on that hand as though it was his lifeline, and Sansa squeezed back.

"If Gregor get's his han-"

"He won't touch you!" Sandor growled as he jumped up from the ground, pacing the floor. Looking up at him Sansa saw his hands shaking. He was having an internal struggle with himself. He grabbed the wooden chair and sat in front of her.

"Sansa...," he had used her true born name, "Sansa, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to keep you safe. Gregor will bring you close to death, just to spite me."

Spite him? She met Sandor's eyes, and Sansa saw in them what she had never truly understood before. He cared for her. He worried for her. All those times he had watched over her, and saved her, and had given her guidance; they hadn't meant nothing. She realized he wasn't gentle with other people as he was with her. In his eyes then she saw panic.

Sansa began to weep again; if The Hound, the bravest man in all 7 Kingdoms, was in a panic, there was true danger in store for her. All these months she had prepared herself for a daily beatings and a lifetime of serving Joffrey, she had prepared herself for what she thought too be worst possible. She was no where near prepared for this. Sansa was terrified, not only for her life but for her sanity. She would lose her mind if she was to be his toy.

"Do you trust me?"

Sansa didn't have to think before answering, "Yes."

Sandor got back up and started pacing again. He looked at her, stopped, then paced. Looked, stopped, paced. Over and over.

He sat before her again, "We need to get you out of here." He stated this simply and emotionless. Sansa was sure he knew if they were caught the both of them would be beheaded without mercy. This man, whom had already been through so much pain, was willing to die for her. The notion filled Sansa with emotions she had never felt before; need, want, passion.

Sansa got to her knees and reached up to cup the burnt side of his face, slowly stroking her thumb across it. Sandor sighed and leaned into her touch, wanting her closer.

She raised herself to her feet, and steadied herself by placing both hands on his arms. She understood this was the only way to free not only herself, but Sandor as well.

"Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

He looked relieved, "This won't be easy, Little Bird."

"I'm not asking for easy, am I Ser? I want to live, I want both of us to live freely. Do you wish to be the Lannister's dog all of your days? This is the only way."

She dropped her hands from him moving towards the edge of the balcony, looking far out into the woods; the woods she would soon be traveling.

He stood behind her and ran his fingers through her hair. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent. His nose and lips made contact with her skin and she moved her head back, leaving her neck even more exposed to him hoping he would begin to move his lips against her. Sandor placed his hands on her waist, and then pushed himself away from her.

He cleared his throat, "As much as I hate to say this, it's unavoidable. We need to do something about that red hair of yours, girl."

Sansa had figured as much, "Do you have a knife?"

He reached to his waist and unsheathed a small dagger, immediately moving closer to her. He started cutting in the back and then moved to her front. She could hear as he ripped her soft hair into pieces with the sharp knife. Sandor would not meet her eyes as he cut away her hair, though when he finnished he stepped away again putting away the dagger, and raked over her examining her new hair.

Sansa began to worry, and she looked at the pile of Tully red beneath her, "How bad it is?

He thought a moment, "Not bad."

"Not good either."

"Not _you._"

Silence filled the room quickly. Did he not like her without her long Tully locks? Was she plain without them? Sandor walked to the door, looked outside, and waved her towards him.

"What now, my lord?"

"I'm going to fetch some clothing for you. You follow those stairs up two flights, and you lock that damn door behind you. Do you understand? You don't let anyone but me inside that room. I don't care if it's the fucking ghost of your father, you do not grant him access. You and I can only trust each other now."

Sansa nodded in understanding, and they parted ways at the stairwell.

"Be safe, my Little Bird," He whispered to her, looking back at her once more before he descended from her view.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa did as she was told and followed the stairs directly to the wooden door. Here in the tower things weren't as elegant as in her side of the castle. The hallways were dark and humid here, the floors littered with soot and ash, the doors made of wood rather than adorned with gold and silver. Sansa pushed the door wide, and entered the small living quarter. This was Sandor's room, Sansa could feel it. It smelled of wine, and earth, and coldness, of long lost spring days. There was an innocence in this room; this is where Sandor spent his time, where he was himself. This room would tell her who Sandor Clegane really was.

There was a straw bed in the corner of the room. It was made up properly, with the corners tucked underneath with precision, and the deep blue duvet folded down evenly. Near the end the the bed was a wooden chair, upon it was a pile of blankets. Why would Sandor need such a large number of blankets? Glancing around the room Sansa noticed no wood for a fire, nor a fire place anywhere to be seen. Fire. Sandor was scared of fire. She understood now.

On the other side of the room there was a small desk with a stool planted infront. As she moved from one side of the room to the other her dress snagged on a nail, yanking her step back, pulling it lose Sansa fell forward and into the writing table. She steadied herself and send a silent prayer that no one heard her wreck, standing still for a few moments she listened for movements outside the locked door. Nothing. She resumed to her previous activity, though this time making sure to set her steps down carefully.

On the desk there was a pile of books. The book on the very top was written on the subject of horticulture. As she fluttered the pages she saw the hand drawn pictures of dozens of flowers, shrubs, and trees. Had Sandor drawn these himself? She flipped to a random page; the weirwood tree. How she longed to be in the Godswood right now, how Sansa longed to be in Winterfell praying under the heart tree there. She sighed and closed the book softly, a sort of melancholy falling over her spirit.

The next book in the pile was composed of poetry. She smiled, for every moment she spent in this room Sandor Clegane shocked her more. The last book was small and worn, ancient looking. The cover was made of soft leather and it was carved into a swirled creation that drew your eye. She opened the first page, and ran her fingers over the raised silver ink. This was no ordinary book.

"You weren't supposed to find that."

Sansa spun around, heart racing. She knew it was just Sandor, but she had been caught going through his things, she was mortified and she could feel the scarlet color coming to her cheeks as she blushed.

"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have been going through your personal items."

"Always so polite," he murmured as he walked over, after re-locking the door and sliding the key into his pocket.

He took the book from her hands gently, and looked down at her. "I was going to give it to you on your name day," he said flipping through the pages, then setting it back in her small hands, "but I suppose you can have it now."

He eyes began to water. "You got me a present?"

"I believe that's what it's called, Little Bird."

"What is it?"

"Figure it out yourself," Sandor laughed as he backed up and sat on the stool.

Opening the book again Sansa took note of the fairytale drawings that outlined the pages. She began reading the words in her mind, it was her favorite song.

She made a small gasp, she knew how much Sandor found her songs silly.

"This is a book of songs," she whispered, trying very diligently not to let a tear drop.

"I knew how much you li-"

Before Sandor could finished he was cut off by the utter shock that Sansa Stark, red haired maiden of the north, had willingly made her way into his arms. He hesitated for a moment, then allowed his arms to twine around her. How nice it felt to hold her. His nose was in her hair. She smelled like honey and lavender, like heaven. He could feel himself coming nearer to the point where he knew he could possibly lose control of himself. He couldn't do that; he wouldn't. He released her, missing the feel of her immediately.

"Would you like me to sing to you?"

Sandor knew he definitely wouldn't be able to calm himself down at this point if she begun to sing. "Not now, Little bird. Right now we need to rest. I was just with Joffrey, he won't suspect you to be here even if someone proclaims you missing."

Sansa nodded in agreement, she was growing tired again. She was constantly exhausted lately, the maester said it could be due to the fact her body was constantly healing itself as of late.

"I grabbed you clothing that would suffice the journey."

Sandor handed Sansa the bag, she began riffling through it.

"I know they aren't silk dresses, but we need you to not be recognized. Dressing you as a boy is our best bet."

"Might I change before we sleep...just incase it's necessary we flee in the night."

Sandor nodded, turning his back to Sansa. He took deep breathes trying to settle himself, but the very thought of Sansa undressing had him intoxicated in lust. He thought of unpleasant memories. He though of war, of fire, of Joffrey and finally he held control once more.

"Where shall I sleep, Ser?"

"You take the bed."

"Where will you sleep? Surely not on the floor."

Sandor grimaced, "Where else might I take my rest?"

"We'll share the bed."

Had she known what she has just suggested? He wasn't going to argue, "Right then."

Sansa slept closest to the wall so Sandor could easily shield her if someone burst through the door during the night.

"Goodnight Sandor."

"Goodnight Sansa."

Sandor felt her shift restlessly next to him, he wasn't sure if she was nervous or just wide awake. She fell silent and still finally. She looked so peaceful in her slumber, so beautiful. Sandor thought he had never seen anything as beautiful as this maiden, this Sansa Stark of Winterfell. He knew he would never be able to love anyone as much as he loved her. He longed to touch her, to hold her, to sleep with her skin upon his.

Sansa cried into the darkness, sobs took over and convulsed through her body. Sandor knew it was another nightmare. He put his arm over her waist and drew her close, letting her cry into him. Slowly her weeps lessened, and slowly she fell back to sleep. Sandor was holding her still, and soon he was asleep as well.


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa hadn't had a nightmare in the hours Sandor had held her. She fell into a deep sleep, perhaps the deepest sleep she had been giften since her father's death. Her dreams were light and on this night she dreamt of Lady.

Usually when Lady was in her dreams they ended with Lady's murder, much like a flashback to that horrible night on the king's road. In this dream Sansa was reminded of Lady before all the darkness had infiltrated her world. Sansa dreamt of Winterfell, of running around the Godswood with her wolf, of the things that make her happiest. Sansa could feel the warmth of Lady's coat as she ran her fingers through it. It was almost as if it were real. How desperately Sansa wished this dream to be real.

She knew it wasn't- she knew this was a figment of her mind, but it didn't matter. This was all Sansa had. The only happiness she could conjure would come from these seldom joyous dreams. Since leaving Winterfell, since the death of her father, dreams were the only thing that allowed Sansa to get up in the morning.

As Sansa laid beside Lady in her dream, she noticed the setting began to darken. Flowers upon the weirwood began to to shrivel and darken as they fluttered to the ground. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds. Sansa heard hooves slam across the earth and she jumped up fear coursing through her veins. Lady slowly rose after Sansa, the hair on her back bristling as she snarled in the direction the horses would come from. Lady looked back at Sansa as she blocked her, hoping to protect her master.

Lady looked upon Sansa with a fierce love in her eyes, Sansa knew Lady would die in this dream protecting her. Again.

"Sansa, run!" Lady growled. Sansa froze, as she watched Lady's mouth move with words. Impossible. They moved again. "Sansa, everything will be ok! Run!"

Sansa ran. She ran as hard as she could, as fast as she could, for as long as she could. The entirety of her escape she had heard Lady's voice, "I'm always with you."

The words fluttered through her mind as she hid in the forrest's camouflaged shelter trying to catch her breath. Lady yelped in pain from a distance, and then nothing. Silence. Sansa felt her heart break within her chest. She had lost her Lady again. As Sansa began to drift in her dream, she began to awaken in reality.

Sandor no longer held her, his back was turned to her hunched as he held himself in the coldness. He wore no tunic, and his broad back was bare, scars tainting his tanned skin. Sansa could feel the heat radiating off of his body as she shivered, she wanted to reach out and hold him. She noticed how fit he was. Under armor you could never tell what a man truly looked like, but now Sansa could see, and she didn't want to look away; she wanted to see more.

Hesitantly Sansa placed a hand upon Sandor's back. When he didn't move Sansa moved her hand higher onto his shoulder, resting there for a moment, she moved it down his arm. His bicep was defined even when he was in rest, and Sansa moved closer to him, allowing herself to move her hand lower. She rested her hand in his, her arm draped over him.

Everything felt right in that moment. She didn't feel scared or worried, she felt content laying next to Sandor Clegane. Of all people she felt happiest with Sandor Clegane, the king's dog.

As Sansa resorted to sleep once again, Sandor laid stirring, wide awake. It was not yet morning and he had barely any sleep, but what Sansa Stark had done left him in a state of restlessness.

He had rolled away from her at one point unaware in slumber, and she had awoken. She had moved herself closer to him, she had touched him, she held him now instead of the other way around.

She had caressed his back and arms, she had touched his scars. She showed him a tenderness he had never before been shown. He felt himself stir as she had gripped his shoulder and arm, and by the time she moved her body to cup his he was painfully hard. He tried to focus his thoughts on things other than her breasts pushing against his back as she breathed. Her hand was in his and he knew he couldn't do anything about this situation at this point. He tried to sleep again. He couldn't.

Sandor breathed deeply, but all he could breath was her sweetness; it intoxicated him. This Little Bird, his Little Bird, was the only thing that could ruin him, and he knew he would let her without question.

Confusion was the only thing muffling Sandor's better judgement. Sandor felt as though he was a boy again. He felt like the fool he was. The fool that had never gotten the chance to court a woman; to know a woman at all. Clueless, Sandor Clegane was clueless in this moment.

He didn't know what anything meant, no woman had ever wanted anything but sex from him. Half the time they didn't even want the sex. What did her reaching out to him mean? Did she want his comfort, truthfully?

The more he thought, the more he settled into Sansa Stark. Maybe she did want him. Maybe it was possible. Maybe he was giving himself too much hope, he thought with a grumble.

He released her hand and turned so that it was now resting on his chest, and in a manner that allowed her head to lay delicately on his shoulder. He paused, taking a deep breathe, and turned once more, so they were face to face.

Her soft skin reflected the moonlight, the curve of her jaw gently moved as she opened her mouth to breathe, her lips slightly parted. Sandor moved some of her fiery locks out of her face and pushed behind her ear, allowing his hand to linger there for a moment. He heard as Sansa took a deep breath, and then sleepily fluttered her eyes open.

She didn't shrink away from his touch as he has suspected she would, she just gave a small smile and yawned.

"Good morning," She said moving her hand up to his as his thumb traced along her face.

"It's not yet morning."

Sandor continued looking directly into her eyes, not ever wanting to look at anything but those deep pools of Tully blue.

Sansa did not respond, she just moved her hand to his face, now caressing his scars. Sandor let himself relax, eyes shutting. He felt Sansa shift on the straw bed. Then he felt it, he felt her perfect lips on his. The kiss was short and not nearly as passionate as Sandor prayed his kisses with Sansa would be, but it was enough.

Everything felt right in that moment. He didn't feel angry or like he needed to push her away, he felt content laying next to Sansa Stark. Of all people he could ever feel happy with, he was happiest with Sansa Stark, the little bird he was taking away.

Neither knew what would happen when the morning did come. They would hopefully be on their escape at this time on the morrow. The day before it would have been an escape for Sansa alone, Sandor her shield. This day it was going to be an escape for both of them, together.


	7. Chapter 7

Winter had not yet arrived in King's Landing, but outside the safety of the south Sansa knew flurries were likely already about. She had told Sandor this, but he has insisted they would get more supplies once they left, instead of taking the risk of sneaking around court. The both of them were set to leave that evening, when the moon was highest in the sky. Sandor would leave during the day to complete Joffrey's tasks, and Sansa was to stay hidden in Sandor's room. She was to keep herself safe.

Sandor had left early, while Sansa's mind was still partially enveloped with sleep. She felt him gaze upon her from the door way as he was leaving, and left her eyes closed on purpose. Sansa knew it was already day when awoke to noises in the hallway hours later for she could see the sun shine through the creases in the wall. She froze as she burrowed herself deeper into the covers, Sansa hoped the access fabric would conceal her small frame if anyone dared enter The Hound's bedroom. Quieting her breathing she listened carefully to the words being thrown back and forth between the two men that were slowly making their way closer to the door.

Though Sansa was trying, she heard nothing she could make sense of or piece together. Broken words and recognizable syllables were the only thing that made it through the thick walls and they were useless out of context. Sansa remained under the blankets, and when there was nothing but silence once more, Sansa carefully planted her feet upon the cold stone ground and went to the corner of the room Sandor had set their supplies.

Her stomach grumbled when she saw the black bread he had left out for her; before she had not even noticed the sensation of hunger that consumed her stomach. It had been more than a day since she had last eaten, and she tore the loaf in half, taking one half with her back to bed.

There was not much to do in the room. She couldn't leave, or explore, and she didn't think it fair if she went through Sandor's things again, so she would sleep. She knew once they left they would always have someone on their tail, that they would not be able to rest until they were far from this place. Sansa didn't care. She would rather die with freedom, than live in confinement.

Sansa wondered what The Hound would be like outside these walls. The past day he had exposed a side of him she knew existed, but had never seen before. He had always made snark comments at Sansa, always calling her his stupid little bird. Had he always meant those words, did he really find her to be dull and daft? She hoped not.

Hours passed and Sansa could sleep no longer, she was fully rested, and another hour of laying in bed sounded more tiring than anything. Sansa crossed the room and sat at the desk she had practically ransacked the day knew she had come across some drawing paper and coals. Surely Sandor used these to write letters, for the idea of such a large and knightly man sitting down and sketching made Sansa laugh to herself.

Never had she favored drawing over stitching, it was one of Sansa's less perfected skills. But in this empty room, it was the only outlet available, and she would not pass up any opportunity of enjoyment. So Sansa lets her hand drift over the paper, making light strokes, not knowing what will come of them. More and more lines produce themselves into a jumble, but slowly they begin to arrange themselves into a fashion that makes Sansa gasp. She had created Winterfell. It was as close a resemblance and she had always remembered it. Sansa needed to go home, she needed her family. Sansa hated herself in that moment. If she had not been so eager to marry the prince, they might have gotten home, her family might have still been together. Robb would not be at war, her father would not be dead, Arya would not be missing, Sansa would not have ever felt the sting of a sword slapped across her back. She might have still been whole inside. Stupid and naive, but whole.

Sansa wanted to cry, wished she could shed a tear, but she couldn't. The shame and the pain were present, but tears of salt water would not fall from her blue eyes. She sighed and pushed back from the desk, looking around the room. Sansa wanted out so badly, she wanted to run through the halls without consequence or threats. She wanted to be normal, for she held no longer wanted to be royal for as long as she lived. Sansa had changed so much in her time in King's Landing, she had acquired such different views. She did not know if she was thankful for these views, or if she wished to go back to being the clueless beauty she was before she left Winterfell. Sansa pushed the thought from her mind. She heard heavy footsteps, footsteps that could only belong to two in all of King's Landing; Sandor or Gregor. She pushed herself against the far wall, hoping to be hidden from anyone that opened the door. She held her breath as the footsteps stopped momentarily, before she heard the doorknob turn. The seconds that would reveal who was there seemed like minutes, upon hours, upon days. She smelled his scent before she saw him. Earth, and sweat, wine, and coldness. Sandor.

She let out the gulp of air she was holding, and breathed through her nose in heaves, "I thought you might have been Gregor."

Sandor closed the door, and leaned against it, that almost constant sad and sarcastic smile played his lips. "No, Gregor is too busy raping and pillaging, Joffrey sent him out into the streets. The people are to be punished since they have been begging for bread, he says."

Sansa felt herself stray from the wall, and arched her back to stretch it. "He should not be King."

"Don't we all know it."

Sansa shot Sandor a questioning look before speaking, "I cannot ever put my finger on how you feel for Jof."

He hesitated before answering, "There was a time I wanted to protect the boy, he was young. Time went on, and...things got worse. The bloody bastard is cruel, and he doesn't care what other people feel. He makes a terrible king, and no one will ever have true loyalty for him. He has done things that are unforgivable. He will pay for his wrongdoings soon enough."

Sansa looked down upon her bare feet, so unladylike and immodest in the presence of a man; she felt a blush play on her neck and cheeks.

She glanced back up to find him staring at her, "How was your day, ser?"

He bristled at "ser" but moved from the door to sit on the bed. "No better than any other. I'm still a Lannister dog," he spat.

Sansa smiled at him, "Not for long."

Sandor grinned back, the burned side of his face twitching against the stretch his smile caused.

"No, not for long, Little Bird."

She kneeled before him, "You should rest a bit before tonight, my lord."

He watched her, a fire in his eyes burning. Sansa moved her hand to his leg, and removed one boot, and then the other. She thought she felt him shutter at her touch. She let her hand linger on his ankle, and then removed it remembering she was a lady. The blush returned to her face and she stood before Sandor never breaking eye contact.

He cleared his throat, "And what about you? Will you sleep?"

She took a step back though she wanted nothing more than to lay beside him and have his arms wrap around her.

"I've slept all day...I'll keep watch."

He laughed as he swung his legs onto the bed, but didn't argued. Sansa sat in the corner of the room, staying as far from him as she could, knowing that if she didn't limit her distance from the bed she would slip in beside him. She drew her knees up to her chest, watching Sandor sleep. He looked at peace. The scared side of his face couldn't be seen from where she sat, it was like it didn't exist; like his face was perfect. Sansa could imagine what he would look like if his face had never been singed by flame. He wouldn't be as handsome as Renly Baratheon or The Flower Knight, but he looked like a strong man from The North. Like a man that could always protect himself, his family, and his lord. His features reminded her of her father's; sharp bones, and dark gray eyes. Yes, he certainly had the features of a northern man.

Sansa drifted into a light slumber, never quite completely asleep, but always hovering at the edge. She felt a hand grip her shoulder and slightly shake her, she snapped open her eyes to come face to face with Sandor. Her eyes locked with hers, and he put a finger to her lips signaling her to be silent. She nodded with understanding, and he again used his hands to point to the window, showing her it was dark, then to the corner of supplies already packed in saddle bags, and then finally to the door. It was time. It was time to go.

She swallowed any fear and reminded herself she was a wolf, a Stark, and she could conquer anything, especially with Sandor protecting her along the way. She stood and Sandor handed her a cloak, it was old and beat up, but the hood would hide her chopped fire colored hair, and shield her face from the guards eyes. Sandor grabbed both saddle bags, and moved to the door looking back to confirm that she was ready, that she could do this. Sansa nodded again.

Every step they took moving down the old wooden tower seemed another commotion, and she felt that at every turn they took someone would be waiting steel sword in hand. They ran into no trouble, they saw no one. As they approached the stables Sandor whispered for her to wait behind the shrubs that surrounded the barn, he left her the saddle bags along with a dagger. She gripped the hold of the small knife, knowing that if a guard approached her only option would be to use it. The thought of killing made Sansa's blood curdle and her stomach clench. She wasn't like Arya, and at times like these, she wish she had more of her younger sister's courage.

Minutes passed by slowly, and as the wind bent the trees, and the animals moved within the bushes, Sansa froze with fear, not even daring to move a single inch. Then she saw him. She saw Sandor come with two horses in hand, the first his black stead she knew to be called Stranger, terrifying to behold, and the second a young chestnut mare. She struggled to move through the thick brush, but with a strong final tug she sprung forward almost falling to the rocky pathway. The moon overhead illuminated the land, and she moved towards her already saddled pony.

She handed the saddle bags to Sandor, and she moved the left side of her mare.

"I need a boost."

Sandor nodded and lifted her by the waist, sitting her side saddle, she swung her right leg over as a man would sit. Sansa had never been a spectacular rider, and she knew she would not be able to ride sidesaddle long distance. Sandor adjusted her stirrups before turning back to Stranger and mounting.

"You ready, girl?" he grumbled, the lightness in his voice earlier no longer present.

Sansa dared not speak, she only clicked and prodded with her legs for her horse to move forward in a light trot. Behind her she heard Sandor curse to himself, but ignored it and continued to ride.

He moved ahead of her easily due to Stranger's large strides, and Sansa followed not knowing which direction they were moving in. He steered Stranger left towards the opposite of the city's entrance, and though this puzzled Sansa, she dared not question. They rode to a small bracket of trees along the west wall. As they weaved through Sansa saw a small opening of the wall, their crossing out of the prison they called a castle, out of King's Landing.

As they passed through the gap both immediately started into a gallop. Sansa smiled as the wind blew her cloak's hood back, and the wind rushed through her now short hair, the cold air awakening her senses. She did not know where she was going to end up, but as she rode side by side with Sandor into the woods she knew one thing: she was finally free.


	8. Chapter 8

Once they reached the forrest, a deep darkness Sansa had never witnessed took over the night. Her eyes got no help from city flames or fires. No, this was true darkness. They would need to adjust to the moon's luminescence, what little of it there was. The clouds hid a majority of the moon's light, and to ride through the forrest at a pace that would keep up with Stranger's lopes, she would need to see. She used her other senses for the time being, hoping Sandor would warn her if she needed to duck down from any oncoming branches.

They rode in silence at a full gallop for what seemed ages before Sandor slowed. He turned his horse into the direction they had just came from, and signaled for Sansa to do the same. What she saw was nothing. The city was so far away she could not even see the brightly lit walls, or the towers that were just as well lit. She nodded. She felt a small amount of relieve flood her senses, and she let her shoulders hunch a bit in contentment. Sansa looked to her right, to the man that had saved her, and found his already looking at her. She wondered if he felt as much relieve as she did.

"Now what?"

"We should ride through the night. I know it won't be easy for you, Little Bird, but the farther we get, the safer."

Sansa pulled her pony's reins back around, and clicked to signal her into a trot. She did not mind if she they needed to ride through rain, or sleet, or snow. As long as she was out of Joffrey's clutches, nothing mattered, nothing could hurt her more than he had. Wordlessly she prodded her horse back into a gallop, and almost immediately she heard Stranger's hard impact on the earth as he pushed past her. No matter how fast Sansa's pony ran, it would be no competition for Stranger's strides. She laughed at this, and settled behind Stranger, dirt being flung in her face only occasionally.

By the time the sun began to show itself, they were deeper into the forrest that Sansa had ever imagined she would see. Her legs were sore from the riding she was not in any way accustomed to, Arya had always been the one that spent her days horseback. Sandor must have seen her wince every time her horse made a hard landing, for he signaled her towards a patch of grass, then jumped off his horse, helping her down.

Sansa collapsed when her feet met the ground. After riding so long, standing felt foreign. Instead of trying to get up, she laid down on the soft dew covered grass, not caring her only clothing were getting damp. Through the trees she could make out the sky. With the sun rising, there were hues of red, and orange, and yellow. She shifted her eyes onto Sandor, who was just grinning down at her.

"Won't you sit?"

"I've got to set up camp."

Sansa shifted into a upward position, "Would you like me help?"

"I'm not sure what help you woud be, Little Bird? Can you set up a tent?" he questioned.

She shook her head looking back towards the ground.

"But, I'm sure even ladies can untack horses. Aye?"

"Yes. They can."

She took the bridle and saddle off her horse first, and then looked at Stranger. As though he could sense she was coming, he had his head cocked back in her direction, staring her straight in the eye. She knew horses could tell when a human was afraid, so Sansa tried to push back all the doubt and worry she held. She extended a hand towards him, and when he nipped at her direction, she held her ground instead of acting in fear and retreating. Hesitantly she raised a hand to his side in an area his neck could not stretch to, and rubbed his stomach. Stranger slacked his neck and lowered it a bit, relaxing a small amount to her touch; as she moved further forward, he felt him stiffen yet again. She did not want to disappoint Sandor, he has appointed her one thing to do, and she would feel a failure if she could not complete it.

Sansa remembered Lady, and how she did not trust her in the beginning of her life. Sansa would hum to her, and Lady would relax, all tension draining out from her small body. Sansa tried this on Stranger, all while rubbing his underbelly. She hummed nothing in particular, just sounds that seemed to mess together, and soon enough Stranger shut his eyes, let down his head, and leaned into Sansa's touch.

She unhitched the girth, and slid the saddle and pads from his back. More carefully she moved to his front, and reached for the bridle's buckles. Stranger made a small movement, and Sansa froze. Instead of acting in violence, Stranger leaned his head into her side, nudging her gently. A sign of affection. She gave a light laugh, and continued to take off his bridle, no longer afraid of the large horse.

She brushed him down, and let him be; he was just as tired, if not more tired, than Sansa herself. Turning she saw Sandor sitting on a rock watching her. She had become used to catching him staring. In all her months at court, it had been normal; he was always watching.

"He isn't even that gentle with me," he grumbled, fiddling with a lose strand of thread on his tunic.

"Don't pout. It doesn't befit you."

Sansa had meant it as a joke, but the moment it came out she knew it would upset him. She walked towards him and settled down beside him on the rock, not making eye contact.

"He likes being sung to," she offered.

"I have no talent when it comes to singing, girl."

It stung when he snapped at her, but she had learned a while back to not let it completely rile her pleasant moods.

"Everyone can hum, though. My nan could not carry a tune worth her life, yet it was her hums that led me into slumber almost every night."

"My sister would sing to me."

Sandor still remembered the sweet sound of her voice. She sung like an angel, the voice that came from her chest was light and airy, it made one feel like they were receiving an embrace every time she sung to them. Sansa reminded him of his sister; both held unlimited innocent and kindness, even when someone did not deserve such affections.

Sansa did not reply, and the two sat in silence side by side. She seemed to drift a bit, and noticing her lack in posture shot back up straightening her back.

"Shall I gather some berries? I'm sure there are some around here somewhere."

"You shan't. _We_ shall."

Sansa and Sandor walked deeper into the forrest, nothing but a knife in one's hand, and a cloth for the berries in the other's. A few meters from where they set camp, they came across a patch of raspberries. Sansa thought this to be the last of the crop, for winter would soon be ascending even this far south, and guessing by the temperatures they had traveled through she was guessing it would arrive soon. She gripped her cape around her small frame before leaning down, gathering the small fruits. Sandor held open the cloth in his large hand, providing a gathering space for the berries.

Secretly Sandor liked spending time with her. She was quiet, and outside the walls of the city, she was new. Better. She did not hold herself back, she was free, and beautiful, and she embodied nature more and more with every passing minute they spent in the wild.

He watched as she pressed a berry to her mouth, dark juice spreading on her lips as it burst. He leaned down to help her; he knew that they should take as many as they could, and dry the rest so they would not spoil on the journey. Sansa pressed another to her lips, before placing three more in her mouth. She bit down and she smiled, marveling at the sweet taste and finally enjoying rich flavors again.

A drip of the juice escaped her mouth, slowing rolling down her chin. Sansa blushed, and before she could wipe it herself, Sandor's thumb found it's way to her face. His thumb swiped the juice, and slowly he brought it to his own mouth, sucking off the deep red liquid. Sansa froze and he reached down to her other hand, and snatched the rest of her berries, shoved them all into his mouth, and turned away. He rose from his squatting position, and walked around a corner of bushes, leaving Sansa alone. She was still frozen, his actions leaving her heart beating faster than she ever felt before.

She wonders what it would be like to- but her thought is interrupted by the deep voice she had once found frightening, but now found so comforting, "Little Bird, there's more berries this way. Blueberries I think," she heard a bush rattling as he grabbed it, "Aye, blueberries."

A grin crossed her face. She was in the woods alone with Sandor Clegane, gathering berries, on their escape from the newest installment of the mad king. She gripped up the ends of her skirts to keep them from the mud puddles and ran in the direction he called from, stumbling right into his chest. He steadied her shoulders, though never budging himself.

"Alright there?"

She nodded, and moved around his large body and into the clearing where she spotted the blueberries. Again Sandor kneeled beside her, and helped with the process. By the time they were done they had enough berries please an entire feast worth of people.

"And we shall have a berry feast tonight, good ser."

"We shall," he agreed, plucking some berries off an untouched bush before following her back to the horses and their bed rolls.

"They've always been my favorite."

He thought for a moment, "I could go for a damn apple right about now. Before the war Joffrey would get 'em for me all the time, then everything went straight to hell and I was stuck with dry bread and old cheese."

"I would rather eat bread and cheese than be forced to eat extravagant meals while people outside the castle were starving," Sansa flinched at the memory, "I can still hear their screams. Every moment of everyday, they screamed for food. Just bread. Couldn't they have given up their eight course meals, and just given their people the help they needed?"

Her tear rimmed eyes shot up to Sandor's face, "Why couldn't they help?"

For a moment Sandor wanted to yell at her. The world wasn't fair, she should know it, everyone should know it. Such a stupid little bird. He wanted to blame her naïve view on life on the fact she had never seen or been through anything traumatic, but he couldn't. She had seen tragedy; she had seen more tragedy than any one woman rightfully deserved. She was pure. That was the only explanation. Sandor saw it in her eyes, her goodness, and he promised himself he would never again try and taint her. He would never again try and darken her outlook on the world.

He patted her back before rubbing circles with his palm, "I-I just don't know, Little Bird."


	9. Chapter 9

It was midday by the time they got to rest. Bed rolls side by side, backs to one another, they fell into a weary sleep. Sansa, though tired, could not completely allow herself to rest for fear of meeting Joffrey or Ser Ilyn Payne in her dreams. Sandor, perhaps more tired that Sansa would not rest for the fear someone would approach their camp. His mind was at the barrier, and several times he felt himself slip into blackness. Constantly it seemed small sounds were stirring him about, again and again this happened until he was no longer on the edge. With no sleep came deliria, and sounds from reptiles seemed like The Mountain's footsteps coming through the brush. Sandor was sure they were safe here, tucked away inside the forest. It was likely that if anyone had indeed noticed both their absences, and by the God's will connected the two, the guards would be searching The Kingsroad, not the forests.

The more he looked into the probability of being found, the more he relaxed into sleep's grasp. His tight hold on his sword's hilt lightened, and again his mind wandered into the world of dreams. Whether tonight's night visions would be good or bad, he did not know. Soon he was lightly snorring, his back heaving with each strong breath he took.

Sansa stirred as always, her clothing getting tangled with bedding and legs. Whoever said sleep was rejuvenating had obviously never been dealt the same dreams as this red haired maiden. Terror was all she found in her slumber. She had woken up and fallen asleep more times that she could count, and always she was welcomed by another nightmare. Some started pleasant, much like a fairytale, but ended with horror: men being flayed, children being slaughtered, women raped. Sometimes a golden lion would be the one executing the terrible acts, sometimes The Kingslayer, Joffrey, Bolton, the list could go on.

She woke again, late into the afternoon. The sun was just setting so she could still dimly see her surroundings, thankfully. To her left was the outline of Sandor, large and now still, overtaken by exhaustion. Sansa shivered as she noticed what thin fabric the bedroll offered, and wondered how Sandor could sleep in such chilled temperatures. She got out of her bedroll and tiptoed over to him, standing above him she watched as he dreamt. A small smile crossed his features; he looked at peace, happy. She looked at his burns, not flinching as she leaned down closer to examine them. Once she had been so afraid of them, so afraid of what they meant. Now she looked upon them as though nothing were different, like he was any other man. Sansa knew he was not like any other man, though. No man had ever treated her as kindly as Sandor had, nor risked as much. If they were found, both would likely be hung, and still he was here with her.

She raised her hand hesitantly above his face, wanting to touch it, but knowing she shouldn't. Sandor began murmuring words Sansa could not quite understand, it was all a jumble until she heard "little bird." Was he dreaming about her? He was. She knew it. Did that make her upset? No. It made her...warm. Warm, yes. A feeling within Sansa seemed to bloom. It felt like a lightness in her body, like a light had come aglow. Fondness, perhaps?

Even through this internal warmness Sansa noticed she was still not resistant to the temperatures of the evening, and that now she was shaking even more that previously. She could feel the heat radiating off of Sandor's body, and went back to retrieve her flat "bed". She drug is as close as she could to Sandor's body, and almost shamefully climbed in. Though not immediately she felt the shaking vacate from her limbs, and steadily the warmness from his body spread to the tips of her frame. She was not sure exactly how long it took her to fall back asleep, but it felt like only seconds.

Sandor woke up to the little bird sleeping next to him, her head inches from his chest, one of her legs digging into his knee cap, and one of her arms pressed up against his torso. He couldn't move in fear of waking her up, and he was getting a strong reaction from her closeness, a reaction he was trying very diligently to resist. He wanted nothing more than to be closer to her, he wanted to be surrounded by her completely. He looked down upon her face, her fire tinted eyelashes curled and stood out against her pale skin. This was the most peaceful he had seen her in months, and he calmed. He wanted her, but not like this. Not when she was dreaming of beauty, and home, and probably a gallant knight in shinning armor. He wrapped his arm around her, and the feeling of holding her ignited a spark deep within him. Could this feeling be...his heart? He could feel it beat as always, but now it was warm, it was beating once again. He had shut it off once his sister was murdered. Shunning away feelings left him able to kill all those he had in the past, and all those he would in the future. Only this time killing would be done only to protect _her_. He was at the will of this girl, because she made him_ feel _again. If all he got out of this lifetime was holding this woman in his arms while she slept, it would be enough.

She woke him only a few hours later by sitting straight up seemingly in a panic. Her cheeks were red and she pulled the ends of her blanket around her body as though she were hiding herself.

'Well don't be shy now," he chuckled sitting up next to her and cracking his stiff back. Sleeping on the ground would not be good for his aging body. Once they were farther away they would get an inn.

"I am sorry about that...Sandor. I was just cold and frightened and I had-"

"Calm down, girl. It wasn't a problem. It's probably wiser to sleep closer in the coming nights, until we can get to an inn far enough away."

Her eyes lightened at the word "inn." Sandor stood up laughing at her again and popping his joints.

"Aye, an inn. Warm water, a bed, stew," he teased her, enjoying her grimace at their current surroundings.

"Sooner than later I do hope."

She stood up as well, dusted off her dress, and then swept her fingers through her hair as though trying to comb it. He was used to her shorter hair now, though he missed the long curls it once had. He moved his gaze from her hair to her face, still beautiful even through the dirt that dirtied it.

Sandor felt himself stir, and broke eye contact. He didn't answer her remark about the time of their arrival at an inn, and instead turned and started tacking up the horses, starting with Stranger and moving to the pony after. Sansa started rolling up the bedding and he heard her shuffling with what must have been the tea kettle he had managed to steal for the journey. He shoved the reins in her hands, almost too roughly, and mounted stranger beaconing her to hand him the supplies bag and his bed roll. She struggled to lift it to him, and gave him a cold look before getting on her horse and trotting off.

Sandor regretted the silence between the two of them, but he didn't want to scare her. Certainly her effect on him was scary, Sandor himself thought so.

As Sandor was conversing with himself, so was Sansa. She wondered about his reaction, how he would not look at her nor talk to her after this morning's conversation. For hours they had been riding no where in particular, and yet not once had Sandor whispered one word in her direction. He had not come to ride beside her, and he had not given her directions, so as far as she knew they could be walking right back in the direction of their enemy. No. Surely Sandor would not have let her walk right back into the clutches of danger. No.

She had glanced back at him several times throughout the day only to meet his eyes, and then watch as they dropped to the ground, or moved to the sky, as they focused on anything that wasn't her. She had woken up with his arm around her, and he had saved her, and boughten her a name day present. Was he regretting being kind to her?

Sansa turned her horse to face Sandor, "I don't understand you," she hopped from the horse and began fiddling with her hands, avoiding eye contact just as he did before, "you are kind to me, and then you aren't. Why are you so upset with me?"

Stranger tugged his head, and Sandor struggled to keep him still. "I'm not upset with you, girl."

"And stop calling me girl! I'm a woman grown!"

"So you are, Little Bird. You have the figure of one. The teats, the hips, even your face appears older than when you first arrived. You think I haven't noticed?"

Sansa didn't reply.

"Is that what you like to hear, hm? That a _monster_ like myself noticed..."

Sandor turned before he could see Sansa's reaction. Silence followed, a mute world surrounded him. He felt a hand then upon his, and he shifted his eyes to the ground opposite of her to hide his face.

"You are no monster, Sandor Clegane."

He followed her on horseback until they saw an inn rising into view. She glanced back at him, seeking approval. Sandor nodded his head in agreement, and after hours being amidst an awkward silence, they both offered each other small smiles, a peace offering of sorts. Soon they would both be among possible enemies, and threats. Sandor's attitude shifted and his right hand rested on his sword, prepared to unsheathe it at any moment. Sansa drew her hood, and once again they were in danger's way.

As they approached the inn they saw no lights or movement. They tied up their horses, and they advanced the building with uncertainty. Empty towns were never a good sign, especially in war. Sandor nudged open the door with his large foot, and peered inside. Nothing. Emptiness.

"It seems we're alone here tonight."

Sansa entered the inn, no longer on edge.

"Well, at least there will be a roof over our head tonight."

"Must be all your praying to them Gods," he muttered, "Looks like it's going to snow tonight, Little Bird."

Sansa peered out the window at the dark clouds that were quickly approaching. Her eyes glazed over and she seemed to be somewhere else at that moment. Sandor felt as though he were invading her privacy as he watched her, and decided to search for any food that was left by those who has deserted the inn. As he walked away he heard Sansa murmur her house words.

"Winter is coming."


	10. Chapter 10

Sandor walked the perimeter of the inn, searching for clues as to why there was no one to be seen in any direction. To the horizons and back, no life to be seen stirred. He wasn't sure if those who had once resided here were forced out by troops, or if they fled in fear of something that was coming their way. Regardless, they had no other choice in shelter for the evening and this was the best they were going to get.

The inn was as cold inside as it was outside, and as he re-entered he was immediately set on finding means of heat that would suffice throughout the day and night. There rested a small stack of wood by the sooty fireplace, but he found no more while searching the property. He could burn the tables and chairs, he thought. Aye, that would do. The wood was brittle and old, and he was surprised at the amount of dust upon the tops. No one could have been here for a long while if this much dust had already settled. As the door opened, rain drops blew in and Sansa was bringing in the saddle bags.

"I untacked the horses and brushed them down. I brought them to the barn, but it's wet and cold, and I'm beginning to worry about them. There was some hay for bedding, so I set it down. Do you think it will be enough? Oh, I hope they don't freeze in the night or grow ill."

She continued her babbling and Sandor let her finish before commenting, "I'm sure they'll be fine. They've both got their winter furs. You've noticed that while brushing them, yes?"

Sansa was still a bit weary, but the look she wore on her face did now not look so worried.

Sandor nodded in approval and got back to his business. Taking apart these chairs reminded Sandor of breaking bones; he shuttered, but continued.

"Where will we go, Sandor?"

"I'm not sure yet. Winterfell? The Free Cities? The Wall? Right now anywhere you'll be safe."

He against concentrated on his work, but only got in a few moments work before Sansa made a small cough, using it as an announcement she was about to speak.

"What exactly are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Sansa?"

Every time he used her name a shiver traveled from her toes up her spine.

"You see, ser, I- I just don't think you should be doing that. What if these people come back?"

"The way I see it is they deserve it. They're the bastards that left it behind," he said gruffly, breaking another leg chair.

Sansa started to protest again before he interrupted, "Would you rather freeze tonight? You see those clouds. You know what they mean, probably better than I. You're wise, Sansa. Use your head."

Sansa crossed the room and slid to the ground by the fireplace, leaning her head back against the cold stone wall.

"I'm not wise."

"You are."

"I'm just a stupid little bird," a single tear rolling down her cheek.

Sandor sat beside her. He felt regret. She would never doubt herself if he had never made such harsh comments back during their time in King's Landing.

"You are much wiser than I was at your age," he stated, "At your age I was a damn fool. I would have never been as brave as you are today. I would never had been able to swallow my pride to save my own life. I wouldn't have trusted a man like me."

"You blame yourself too harshly, Sandor. I don't believe you've done anything with as much pleasure as you lead people to believe. You are not the man others assume you to be, I knew that from the beginning."

Silence loomed between the two, but the air surrounding them was filled with static. Sansa again found her mind wandering to a forbidden place; ladies were not supposed to think of such things. But for months she could not get this man out of her mind. The way his voice sent thrills throughout her entire body. The way he gently guided her, making her feel safe. The way he came behind her and breathed upon her neck, made her blush.

He shifted his body in her direction, placing his hand upon her cheek. Sansa sucked a breath, but inched forward slowly simultaneously. Her heart beat fast, and she placed her left hand on his right, intertwining her fingers between his. She looked down at them, hers so small and frail in comparison to his. She looked back up, his face inches from him, eyes meeting. She smiled, and he looked away, the magic present just a moment ago had vanished. She released his hand; the air now flat, the magic lost, the moment passed. She awkwardly stood, not knowing how to act. He was going to kiss her, she was sure of it, he had been so close.

"I'm going upstairs," she whispered, not looking at him before she departed from the room.

Once he heard she was gone, he kicked the closest object in fury. She was going to kiss him back, he was sure of it, she had willingly come closer to _him_, she had held _his _hand. But then she smiled. Yes, she smiled that perfect grin and Sandor lost his gut. He had gotten too nervous. He could not understand how someone as perfect as she could possible look upon someone as cruel looking as himself and smile.

Sandor didn't know how women worked, how they thought, how they felt. He felt as though she could look right into his soul, and it had shaken him. He had never been vulnerable before, not to anyone, and this girl had changed his whole life in a matter of months.

He wanted to be better for her. He wanted to be a noble man, like the knights she so often spoke of, but Sandor knew he would never be of the such. He was but a flawed man, a flawed man that needed someone as pure as Sansa to lead him out of his misery. But would he do that to her? Could he? Could he let her into the deepest parts of his heart, and mind, and confess all he had done?

Already she knew parts of him Sandor had struggled to hide from everyone's eye. But then he knew her as well. They knew each other on levels others never would, because they were so similar.

"Bugger me," he rasped, climbing the stairs after her, "Sansa? Little Bird?"

He reached the top of the stairs and saw her standing in the middle of the hallway, tears present.

He walked straight towards her, clasping her face in his large hands, looking her straight in the eyes, wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

"I don't know how to do this. Feel. You've made me feel and I don't know what to do with the pieces," Sansa saw him look at her with awe, "A nd I don't know how someone as perfect as you, perfect in every way can want me."

"I'm not perfect," Sansa argued, shaking her head, more tears falling now.

"You are. To me you are. You always have been."

"You want to know how I can want someone like you? Because I see _you_, not your fucking scars, and not your drunken alter-ego you hide behind. You! If only you could see the same man I do."

"I want to see him, to find him. I can't do it alone, Sansa," his hands dropped, and he began pacing, "Even if I can, what's the point? You're going to leave one day, you're going to leave and marry some rich lord who can give you everything you want."

"You are a bloody fool! I don't want them, I want you!"

Sandor came back towards her, and pushed her against the wall, pushing her arms above her head and grasped her wrists, "Why? How could you want me?"

"I've already told you," she whispered.

Her could feel as her breasts heaved against him as she breathed heavily. In and out, in and out. He pushed harder against her, and she moved into him, a small growl lifting from her throat.

"Why?" he asked again.

She straightened herself and tugged on her wrists, Sandor released them. Sansa was mad now, "You question me, but you answer none of the questions I ask. I answer you truthfully and you doubt me and come up with excuses and turn conversations into fights," she moved beneath his arm, freeing herself from the cage of body he had formed around her.

Sandor now turned and was against the wall being corned by Sansa, "You say beautiful things, and then. you. ruin. them," she snarled, poking him in the chest, giving emphases to every word she said.

He grabbed her finger and she pulled it from her grip, turning in frustration.

He came behind her and lowered his head to her ear, "Sansa, you have to understand...I've never felt this before," he swallowed before starting again, "Help me understand."

As he whispered into her ear, Sansa again felt the lightness enter her chest, "I think you have to understand them on your own," she said, letting her head back, feeling his lips come into contact with her neck.

He kissed her softly there below her ear, and then turned her face towards his. Sandor saw the want her her eyes, but it was masked by anxiety. She was nervous of this interaction. Though Sandor wanted nothing more at this point than to kiss her passionately, to lay her down, and kiss every inch of her body, he wouldn't. Sandor could finally control himself around her. He didn't want to push her into something she was unsure of, of something she was still scared of.

He backed himself away from Sansa without any trouble, his dick no longer controlling him. Sansa breathed through her nose stumbling back, the want for him making her light headed, but the nervousness within in her giving her enough sense to not pursue him any farther. They stared at each other, one on each side of the hallway, directly across from one another.

Sansa's hair was out of it's braid and her face was smudged with dirt, he smiled at her. He liked her best this way, natural, and away from all the things that hid her true beauty available in King's Landing. She had lowborn clothing on, and her shoes were nothing to be talked of. She was just Sansa here. She was not Lady of Winterfell, sister of the King of the North, she wasn't even the King's betrothed anymore. She was just Sansa.

Sansa wanted nothing more than to have Sandor look at her as he was now. He was overlooking her, and the more he looked at, the more his smile widened. Sandor's hair was pushed away from his scar, and she smiled back at him. Perhaps she could make him see what she saw. A brave, handsome, strong man.

They both stood in the hallway until the light faded from the sky, and until the wolves began to howl. Sandor walked back over to Sansa, taking on of her pale skinned hands in his rough tanned one. He embraced her, and rubbed his face in her soft hair. He lightly placed kisses on her finger tips, and then on her forehead, and then on her cheeks, and nose, and eyelids, and finally her mouth, never once making a rough or forward move. Sansa kissed him back, enjoying the softness he was showing her.

He let go of her, and again backed up against the opposite side of the hall. He stared at her intently, closely, and a small smile agains crossed his features.

Sansa felt her stomach grumble, and Sandor shifted his gaze to it, noticing the sound.

"We need strength for our journey tomorrow, I'll go fetch us some bread and cheese," she said.

As she reached the stairs she halted as he called her.

"Little Bird?"

She grabbed both sides of the doorframe of the stairwell, and looked back at him, "Yes?"

He looked down at his feet as though gaining courage, he looked back up at her, rubbing his hand's together, the nervous tick present again, "I think I love you."

Sansa smiled at him, as he watched her, desperation in his eyes, "Finally, you admit to it."

She turned back around before he called out again, "And you?"

Just her eyes peeked around the corner now, but Sandor could see the smile in her eyes, "Must you even ask?"

"Yes."

"I love you too."

Sandor reached up to his face and felt his scars, and for once did feel bitterness. He felt his lips, and felt the smile, and felt it widen even still.

He could still hear her shuffling around downstairs. He descended down the stairs to help her, but half way down froze as he heard something else. Hooves beating against the ground.


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks everyone for the continued support, it really means a lot to me. I honestly have no clue where this story is headed, or how many more chapter it will hold, but I enjoy writing it, so don't expect me to close shop anytime soon. Please continue with reviews, they light up my day!

He rushed down the last few steps and saw her frozen in place, she had heard to hooves as well. She glanced at him, terror filling her tears, begging silently for direction. Sandor signaled at the back door, and crouched as he crept across the small dining room, knowing she would follow his lead without question. He had left his sword on his side, but his other daggers were set nearby the door specifically if such an occasion as this had come into play. He firmly pressed a small knife into Sansa's hand, kissed her on the lips softly, and gripped her hand pulling her along with him.

From behind the inn they were hidden, but they still had to reach the horses and tack them without getting caught. The barn was to the left of them and Sandor could hear the hooves smacking dirt to the right of them. He wasn't sure if they would be spotted if they took the risk and ran to the barn, but if they could reach it in time, they would have the upper hand safety wise.

Sandor turned to Sansa, now shaking with fear, "Little Bird, we have to run. Don't stop. No matter what they say, no matter what happens to me, you tack that little mare of yours and go. I will find you. I'll always find you."

Tears were once again streaming down Sansa's face. The idea of losing Sandor at this point sent a searing pain through her core, causing more tears to form. She gripped his hand tighter and nodded in understanding, a silent 'I love you' exchanged.

Then they ran. They ran, and it seemed at though time fell still. She glanced over and saw that there were two on horseback, but they had yet to notice her or Sandor yet, they were to focused on the inn's front. They reached the barn, still hand in hand, but immediately separated once reaching the safety of the wood building. Sandor barred the door with a pitchfork, something that would just hold they off just barely if they found them hiding in the barn. Sansa went and saddled her horse, trying to calm herself, and not let her fear mingle with her small mare's own emotions.

She heard Sandor beside her, taking care of Stranger, precision with every move he made. The sounds from the other men had stopped, and she could only assume they were searching the inn. Soon they would find the evidence of their presence and come searching. Both horses were set to ride, and the two took off through yet another back entry.

It was too much to hope for safe traveling to the edges of the forrest. The knights were once again on horseback and chasing them, always gaining on Sandor and Sansa's tail.

Sandor yelled at her over the sound of wind ripping through her hair, "We have to split at the forrest's edge."

"No!" She screamed back, already knowing what he would say next.

"You have to keep riding, I'll stop and take them."

"You have to stay with me. You can't leave me. I need you, Sandor!"

He looked back infront of him, counting down the moments till he would have to turn and face the enemy.

"How could I lose when I have something worth fighting for? I will find you. Keep going. Please," his voice broke and he paused, regaining his composure, "save yourself."

"I will wait for you."

Sandor pulled back on his reins, and Sansa continued forward, galloping towards the dark trees.

"I love you," she yelled back at him.

"Be safe," he returned sternly, though the look in his eye betrayed him. They were watered, and there was fear. Not only fear for the coming small battle, Sansa knew he could probably easily win, but the fear of losing her to the woods. The fear that he would never again see his lovely lady, his precious bird.

Sansa heard steel clash, but did not turn back to see the outcome. Her heart could not bear it. The woods were so close, she could feel them envelop her into the dark, cold greenness. She wouldn't stop here. No. She must go deeper, deep enough so that if they soldiers were the ones to survive, they would not be able to find her. Sandor knew her strategies, how she thought, she was sure he would find her without an issue. She would leave behind small clues, clues only someone skillfully trained in tracking would notice. She knew this would lead her love back into her arms.

The sun continued to lessen, and the air became frostier. She knew night was about to fall upon her. She jumped to the ground, taking a moment to take in her surroundings. Sansa did not know how to survive in the wild, especially in winter. She only knew what Sandor had told her; to stay warm and hydrated. She had no water skin with her, and the only warmth she had was the cloak around her shoulders. Sansa slumped against a tree and buried her head in her hands, praying to the old gods and the new. She prayed for safety, she prayed for her family, and she prayed for The Hound.

Her horse settled down as close to Sansa as she could; there was a familiar kindness in her deep brown eyes, a likeness Sansa could not exactly place. She reminded her of Lady, gentle and sweet, but when in need, strong and defensive. Yes, Lady was a good name for her new companion. She slowly moved closer to Lady, leaning her back against the horse's large neck, and was surprised when Lady placed her head against Sansa's body, shielding her from the cold. Sansa would be safe here with her horse. She could only continue to hope and pray that Sandor would find her by dawn. Before the evil of the world could catch up with her.

Sandor's heart clenched without her. He had defeated the "knights" sent by Joffrey, easily. Yearlings, they were barely trained in the art of killing. One's head fell from his shoulders mere seconds after coming face to face with Sandor, the other took a little time. He was not a good fighter, but he was quick, dodging Sandor's blows yet never actually making one of his own. His sword made contact with the young lad's arm, and then he took a dagger to his throat, ending his misery. The pathetic try at ending their escape had failed, and now Sandor hated the young mad king more than ever.

Stranger had never strayed far from Sandor, and came closer sensing the danger was over. Sandor took the saddles and bridles off the two extra horses and set them free after taking all the cargo the soldiers had been carrying. Basic medical supplies, some dried beef, water skins, extra blankets; things that would make Sandor and Sansa's journey more comfortable. He needed to get back to her. Nightfall was coming quickly. He wouldn't rest until he found her, and he would search the entire night if he had to.

Entering the thick woods Sandor noticed another temperature drop, and an even darker blackness fell. The canopy atop blocked a large portion of the moon's light, making just walking a difficult task. Hours upon hours he stumbled through brush, until he found a clue. A small piece of cloth, perhaps a snag off of Sansa's dress. He followed this, noticing how the brush had been slightly flattened down; a trail had been made.

He got back atop Stranger and let him guide the way; he seemed to always find his way to a mare. They road for anther hour before he saw the horse. It rested close to a tree, but there was no sign of his little bird. The nearer he got, the more he panicked. He couldn't see her hair of fire. His palms were sweating, making it hard to grip the leather reins. His pulse raised in worry. Sandor got down, and made kissing noises to alert the horse he was there, not wanting to spook it. Then he saw her. Her small face peered over the horse's back.

She raised herself quickly and jumped into his arms, "Don't you ever leave me again," she whispered into his chest gripping his shirt in her small hands, inhaling his scent.

"Not if I have a choice."

Sansa did not quite like his response, but let it slide not wanting to cause any ill will between the two of them in that moment.

"I knew you would find me...what happened? Once I left?"  
>Sandor let go of her and went and fetched the water skin from Stranger's back, handing it to Sansa. She took it thankfully and gulped back a few swigs before sitting back down with her horse, back rested against the base of one of the many broad trees that surrounded them. He smiled at this. She no longer was completely focused on her manners out here, she was relaxed with him.<p>

"I killed them."

Sansa nodded, almost sadly.

"They would have taken you back to him," he whispered, his words deep and fierce.

"I know."

He kneeled beside her, the silence filling the void between them, but not with un-comfort. It was as if they didn't feel the need to talk, and everything was just the same. Sansa glanced sideways at him, and looked back before he could catch her staring. Sandor did the same, just barely looking straight ahead before she took yet another peek. She did not remove her eyes this time, instead just let them linger. He could feel her deep blue orbs on him, the pressure to look became too much.

He met them, letting out her name in a small whisper. Then she was in his lap, looking down on his face. Her hands held his cheeks, and she ignited the fire between them. Her lips met his is a hurry, taking his bottom lip between hers, biting it gently before switching to the upper lip. Soon his tongue was tracing the gap between her's, and she let him in, rolling her tongue over is. This experience was new to her, she had only been given simple kisses before, and she found she quite enjoyed these kisses. Especially with Sandor. His stubble tickled her cheek and she smiled into the kiss, feeling his mouth grin as well. She pushed herself against Sandor, needing something hard against her, and she heard him growl as he grasped her hips pulling her onto him harder. Soon she was gasping, reaching nearer that feeling she had only felt once before then Shae had explained self pleasure to her once she flowered.

As though Sandor could sense this he began pulling her against his thigh in a rhythm, she rocked with him and soon she was groaning his name.

"Sandor...I'm-I'm so close," she moved against him again, "Almost there."

He moved his lips from her mouth to her neck. She arched it giving him greater access and as he kissed her jaw she finally saw stars.

"Oh my, my-," she gasped.

Sandor smiled up at her kissing her again. Sansa however noticed Sandor had not been relieved yet. She shyly placed her hand on his length, feeling the hardness, moving her hand slowly up and down.

Sandor's head fell back in pleasure, "You don't have to do this, Little Bird."

She gave a small laugh, "Oh but I want to, _my lord_."

Usually those words combined with that snarky attitude did nothing but anger him, tonight it just excited him more. Sansa continued pleasuring him with her hand; the only way she knew how, and the only way Sandor would allow her to. He let out another groan as her finger's moved over the head of his shaft, and back up again, now moving more quickly and with more intent.

He looked into her eyes as he had his release, saying her name again as he came.

"Did I do okay?"

His breath was still short and ragged when he replied, "Better than that."

She grinned and her gaze darkened as she unlaced her dress. He helped her by yanking the front of it down, releasing her teets from their fabric chamber. He moved his hands over her ivory skin gently, rolling his calloused thumbs over her already hard nipples.

Sansa pushed on his chest, making him lay down, and hovered over him. Her hands were on his breeches, untying them. Sandor was hard again but grabbed her hands, halting their work. A flash of hurt was in her eyes before they clouded with confusion.

"Did I do something wrong?"

He tied his laces back up, and leaned back forward, still grasping her hips, "You've done nothing wrong."

"Then why-"

He interrupted her, "Believe me, there is nothing more I would rather do than to lay you down and have you now...but, I don't want this to be how it happens for you. I don't want it to be on some damn hard forrest ground. You're a maiden."

"I know that," she snapped.

"What about if you marry someday?"

"The only man I wish to ever marry is beneath me as I speak."

"Not like this," he shook his head.

Sansa was about to get off of him, obviously disappointed, before he held on to her and looked up with a grin on play, "That isn't to say we can't do other things, Little Bird."

She looked down interested, his use of her pet name having already sent pleasure wves through her body, "Like?"

"Lay down and I'll show you."


	12. Chapter 12

Sansa hesitated only a slight moment before letting her back hit the cold ground. Her backside may have been chilled, but at every place Sandor touched her, she felt a spark of warmth. She knew he wouldn't do anything to harm her, but she didn't know exactly what was about to come. Sansa did not know much about laying with a man, this was true, and it had her worried.

She looked down at Sandor, he was crouched above her, hands on her knees, looking back at her with a look in his eye she had never seen before.

"What is it?" she asked pushing to her elbows. "That look?"

A small smile met Sandor's lips, "Just you. I'm...I'm in awe. In shock maybe. I feel like at any moment I could wake up from a dream, and you'll be gone."

Sansa ran her fingers over his hand still on her knee.

"This isn't a dream. This is real. You and me, we're both here. Regardless of the fact we're in this damn forrest."

Sandor shook his head as though he were trying to wake from the dream, but smiled once again as Sansa did not fade.

"Aye, this forrest."

Sansa lay back down upon the earth, satisfied in the moment.

"Sansa?"

She made a small sound letting him know she had heard him.

"Let's just sleep now."

She nodded and opened her arms, beckoning him towards her body. She was glad things had slowed down. She wanted to be with Sandor, that much she knew, but he was acting oddly. Perhaps still caught up in the small battle he had just been a part of.

They laid together in the dark, making the most out of the small warmth each of their bodies provided. Sansa felt as though Sandor was marked deeper than he admitted when he killed. He had once told her it was the best thing in the world, killing. She saw now this wasn't true. He seemed numb. He felt remorse.

"You had to kill them, Sandor."

"I know. Still, they were young lads."

"They would have killed you if you didn't get to them first. You are not to blame."

He stayed silent for a moment before speaking in whispers, "I feel like you can see into me. No one has realized the things about me you have. No one has seen the things I have fought to hide, besides you."

She stroked his hair, "Only because no one has taken the time to understand you," she took a shaky breath before continuing. "I watched you in King's Landing for many months. I saw you when you thought no one was looking. You hurt inside. I can see it in your eyes even still."

"How? How do you know such things?"

"Because...I hurt inside too."

They said nothing else, and fell asleep in each other's arms. Sansa dreamt of summer time and swimming; all the nice things. Beside her Sandor dreamt of childhood, of a time without scars, a time he was normal. Neither woke during the night, nor did they toss and turn trying to find comfort. They were perfectly content.

Sansa woke before Sandor the next morning. Her face turned towards his chest, and his arms around her, and very carefully turned onto her back trying not to wake him. She could see the fatigue on his face even as he slept. Maybe he would allow them to stay put for a day. She knew his answer would most likely be no, but she would ask regardless. Sansa wondered where exactly they were, how far she was from her home. It didn't matter though, she knew Winterfell was not safe, and would probably not be safe for many moons to come.

She thought back to when she first had saw Joffrey; what a silly girl she was then. She had been so blinded, so stubborn, so stupid. She remembered the first time she saw Sandor. She was nervous then, not quite scared, but not completely comfortable. She laughed a bit at how she had caught him watching her so many times, at how scared he had been of her gazes back.

"Care to share, Little Bird?"

"I didn't mean to wake you!"

"I was halfway out of my dreams already. Share with me, I like hearing your voice," he said softly, still keeping his eyes shut.

"I was thinking about all those times I caught you staring, about how startled you always were."

He cracked open one eye and looked down at her, a small grin playing his lips, "You scared me, girl. I never looked away quickly enough."

"Well I'm glad you didn't, or else I would have never know."

"Known what?"

"That you cared."

He then opened both eyes and leaned down more towards her, brushing her hair out of her face, "I cared the moment I saw you."

She froze, almost startled at his confession.

He laughed at her stiffness within his arms, "I imagine it took you a bit longer."

She relaxed a bit, glad he wasn't expecting her to say the same, "A bit."

"I was wondering if we could rest today. If you don't expect anyone to find us, and if we aren't behind any schedule, and-"

"We can stay for a while. We should try and gather whatever food we can while here. There's bound to be something in these woods."

Sansa stretched her arms above her, and arched her back trying to release the tension that had built up from sleeping on the ground. Sandor drew the arm that was across her slowly, letting his finger caress her stomach as he moved, before stretching as well.

They divided tasks that would not labor their bodies, and each set out their ways. Sansa took to taking care of the horses, while Sandor took his bow to find any game present in the dimly lit forrest.

Before he left their humble camp, he took one last glance at Sansa. She was showing that damn pony as much care as she would a child. She hummed, and smiled, and swayed. She was happy. She looked in place at that moment, like she belonged. Her hair seemed to collect what little sunlight was present, and shone like the sun itself. She looked as though she were a fiery godess of the wood. He was sure there was a song about such a woman, a woman like Sansa.

Sandor wondered if she could be happy like this. Living off horseback, surviving off only what the land bared to them. He didn't think so before, but now, as he looked upon her, he wasn't sure. Maybe she could be.

He left hoping to find something they could eat, for every night got colder, and every night more food disappeared due to the frost. As he walked through the brush, he tried to be as silent as possible, knowing that any sound could either scare away the animals he was hunting, or attract men that were hunting _him_. He felt he could get lost within the thick trees at any turn, so he began leaving a trail only he would recognize. He wouldn't stray far from Sansa, but he wanted to leave himself a definite way back to her just incase trouble arose.

Sansa felt as though she couldn't hold herself back from smiling. She was happy at last. Sure she traveling the woods rather than in a castle, she was eating wildberries instead of pork pies, and the man that loved her wasn't exactly princely material, but she was free. Sansa was free and satisfied with what life was throwing her way.

She craved to see her family, but as long as Sandor was by her side she felt as though the emptiness in her heart caused by their absence would not break her. Weeks ago she had not felt the same. Within the short time she was beside Sandor, she had gained more joy that she had in years. That had to mean something? She wish her mother was there to give her advice on these feelings that were presenting themselves more strongly with each passing hour.

Instead she talked to her horse, without end.

"What do you think this means, Lady? I never felt this way about Joffrey, not even close. Not even in the beginning when I thought him to be handsome! Do you think it's...love? Maybe? I don't know. I've never been in love, Lady. Maybe it's just a strong fondness? No. It's more. Possibly the start of love? Oh Lady, I do wish you could speak back to me. I never thought I'd be with someone like Sandor. But...but he's so kind, and he would never harm me, and I don't even notice his burns any longer. The way he looks at me. It's as though he sees _me, _not my title, or my name."

She continued to talk as the horse eyed her warily. Sansa hesitantly moved towards Stranger after she felt she could groom Lady no further. He barely acknowledged her approach. As she stroked his neck, he lowered his head so she could reach behind his ears and scratch, something she had learned he loved. She had realized in the start of their journey how similar Stranger and Sandor were, and she wondered if Sandor had noticed how alike his steed was to him. Probably.

She heard what she hoped Sandor come back through the bushes. She crouched beside Stranger just incase, and waited for him to emerge into view. She rose back up as he searched for her, eyes filled with panic as they scanned.

"I'm here."

He lifted the rabbits he had caught by the legs, smiling in success, sudden ease shaking away his previous worry.

She nodded in approval, "You did well."

Sandor strung them from a higher branch, so no other animal could reach them before he made his way to Sansa.

They both stood beside his horse silently eyeing one another.

"You two are more friendly with every passing day. Should I be jealous, Sansa?"

"Perhaps, my lord. Stranger is indeed very loyal, handsome too," she played back, a teasing note filling her words.

"Well, I dare say I can challenge his level of loyalty. Though I cannot compete with his handome features."

"You can."

The air between them seemed to be filled with electricity as the conversation continued. Again they lapsed into silence.

"I should start a fire," Sansa said as she left Stranger's side walking away from Sandor to the small pit he had dug before leaving to go hunting. She had already placed a few small logs in it, but veered towards the deeper woods hoping to find a few more.

Before she make it out of the small clearing they called their camp, she felt her hand was pulled back bringing her into Sandor's arms. He kissed her, lightly gripping both sides of her face with his large hands. The kiss was soft, their lips lightly coming together a few times before Sandor bit her bottom lip and pulled away.

"_Now_ you can get to that fire, Little Bird," he said before giving her light pat on the butt sending her towards the woods again.

She looked back clearly startled at his brash act, only to smile along with him when she saw his cocky grin, "As you wish, sir."


	13. Chapter 13

**_Hey guys! Sorry this update has been so long coming, I've been super busy as of lately, and I'm so sorry I haven't been posting. Writers block has also been a huge problem for me, so that explains why this chapter is so short. I'm getting back into my grove and this is a transition chapter. Enjoy and comment!_**

* * *

><p>The fire was producing comfortable warmth by the time Sandor and Sansa finally rested. Side by side they sat, both leaning into one another. Sansa took one of Sandor's hands into her own and traced the lines and cuts, remembering the feel of his skin.<p>

Comfortable silence settles about them for what seemed hours before Sansa finally spoke up, "Where will we go?"

"Where would you like to go?"

Sansa pondered the question- as much as she wanted to go home she knew she couldn't. Not only could enemies be waiting throughout the North for her, but surely once they met with Robb he would see to it that Sandor was banished, or worse yet, executed. He would not understand how much Sandor meant to Sansa. No, she could not go home. Not yet.

"We could cross the seas, go to the free cities."

Sandor arched his eyebrow in surprise, "You would leave here?"

"Wipe off that startled look. You know as well as I there is a multitude of reasons we can not go North, and we surely cannot go back South. It seems the only option. Unless you want to live in these woods..."

He laughed, a light note playing within the sound, "We can not last much longer in these woods. Winter is coming."

Sansa nodded in agreement, "Winter is coming."

"So we'll find a boat, leave here for a while then?"

"Yes."

They both settled into their blankets and Sandor wrapped his body around Sansa's to give her extra warmth. He loved how perfectly she fit into his arms, how she relaxed when her back rested on his chest. As she drifted, Sandor worried. Would he be able to protect her in the free cities as he did here? He had only crossed the sea a handful of times, never quite getting adjusted to the lifestyle there. Things were different...less organized. People did not fear him there, for his reputation in such lands was not as widely known. This could always keep both of them safer. The less he was recognized, the less she would be noticed. Yes he could keep her safe, he knew he would gladly give his life, a thousand times over, before he would let anyone put a ill hand on her. He would never let that happen again.

Through the night nothing disturbed either of the lovers, and they both slept soundly. As morning approached, birds became to chirp, animals began to move about, and Sansa's mind began to stir. She was still encased in Sandor's large arms, safe as one could be. She turned slowly, trying not to wake him, and looked upon his face. He smiled in his slumber, and grumbled every now and again almost as though he were talking in his sleep. Watching others rest always had fascinated Sansa, so much was revealed about their character.

She slid out of his arms and started brushing both the horses, getting everything packed and ready to leave. She wanted to get to safety as soon as possible. The farther from here they got, the safer they could live. They would need to take precautions, this was a given, but they would likely not have to hide in forests with their cloaks drawn at every second. Surely if Sansa colored her hair they could even live somewhat normal lives together. As long as she had Sandor with her, she was confident safety was soon to come.

"An eager bird this morning, aren't you?"

"I wish to reach the free cities as soon as humanly possible, my lord."

Sandor rubbed his eyes free of sleep, and sat up stretching.

Sansa pranced on the subject before he had time to talk, "What roles will we play once we reach our destination?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well I can't be Sansa Stark, and you can't be Sandor Clegane. We will need parts to play...perhaps as...well it would be suspected that..."

"Spit it out, Little Bird."

"Well we would be suspected to be...husband and wife."

Sandor looked down at his hands then set to rolling up their packs. He flung them onto Stranger's back once finished and fastened them tightly before looking Sansa in the eye, "Then that is what we shall be. Think of some names...my wife."

Sansa tried hard to hide her smile as they both got onto their horses and set off to the beginning of their new lives.


	14. Chapter 14

The days seemed to grow longer the closer they reached the port city that would hopefully lead them to freedom. Sandor grew more nervous, fearing the crowds they would soon face. Both would have to conceal as much as their visible traits as possible. Sandor's scars, Sansa's hair. He feared Stranger's appearance would bring about questions, but hoped they would hire a boat before too many had spotted them.

They rode long and hard every day, and when dark approached they would set up camp, Sandor would manage to gather some food, and Sansa would brush down the horse. They had developed a system, a system that made each of them useful to the other. It brought importance to them both, giving them a sense of assurance, providing a confidence hard to find in these times because they had some importance, regardless of the significance.

Each night they settled into their makeshift beds near the fire, side by side, sometimes holding each other, always hands touching.

Three days ride from their destination, they stopped by a stream for the night, hopping the brush and trees that were lushly present would conceal their camp. They each set to their individual chores, before sitting by the fire to eat. Sandor had found some pheasants to roast over the flames on a spit he made of a branch. Sansa had found some wild herbs during their ride, and she has stuffed the birds before they were cooked.

Living on such a bland diet the past weeks, neither were prepared for the richness the meal would bring.

Laying back Sansa clutched her stomach and let out a groan, "Too rich."

Sanda laid beside her on his side so he was facing her. He placed a hand on top of hers, the size of his almost completely covering both of her small hands.

"Let me."

Sansa removed her hands and instead placed them behind her head as a pillow. Sandor began rubbing in circles, trying to soothe her.

"You know I've been thinking about what you mentioned," she smiled.

He smiled back down at her, "What exactly did I mention?"

"Don't be daft, about...new names? As...as we are to act as though we are husband and wife."

"I've been wondering what you would come up with," he mumbled, laying onto his back, but keeping his hand on Sansa's stomach, the heat making him feel a part of her.

"I started thinking of different names, names that weren't as common here since we'll be living across the seas."

Sandor nodded in reply.

"Well I have a few that I admire, I was hoping you would help me."

"You want me to name you, Little Bird?"

"Well help at least..."  
>Sandor hesitated, "Let's hear them then."<p>

"Ellyn, Emeline, and Isabel. I think they're pretty, yet simple. Like me."

"Ah, Sansa. You are far from simple," he sighed, drinking in her features yet again. Such beauty, inside and out. She still did not know how truly devine she was, and that was her greatest charm. He wasn't sure any name would fit her like Sansa did, but he like Emeline just fine.

"Little Bird, you are as kind and beautiful as any angel. I think Sansa is perfectly fit for an angel, but since we can no longer call each other by our birth names in the presence of other's ears, I think Emeline will suit you. It is pure and sweet, just like you."

Sansa twined her fingers with his, lightly brushing his fingers with hers, "You flatter me."

Sandor brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it with a gentleness he reserved solely for Sansa, "You deserve to be flattered."

Before Sansa knew what she was doing, she had flipped and was on top of him. He hands pushed against his chest as she leaned down, bringing her lips onto his with urgency. When she kissed him, or felt him, it was as though she lost a sense of herself and just melded into him. Like they became one. Sansa again wished she had someone she could talk about these feelings with. She didn't so instead she acted on them, and rather riskily.

Sandor pushed back against her, pulling her closer to him, consuming her. He also felt lost in her presence, as though they were not separate souls but one. He never wanted to feel anything but that. He never wanted to lose her.

Both slowed their paces at the same time, took deep breaths, and smiled. Sansa rested her head on Sandor's chest, and relaxed further as he stroked her hair.

"Soon, Little Bird. Soon."

Sansa grumbled to herself. She knew he wanted only the best for her, but sometimes it frustrated her. She wanted to be with him in every way possible so desperately at times, so desperately that often it hurt. But she restrained herself knowing that if she waited until he was ready, it would make losing her maidenhead all that much better for them both.

She sat up, still on top of him, and played with his tunic, "But we have yet to pick a name for you."

"You haven't picked one for me?"

"I thought you would like to choose."

"I want something that doesn't grab attention, something boring."

Sansa threw her head back in though, beating her fingers against his chest in a rhythm. Sandor loved when she was like this; relaxed, unladylike, herself without the titles.

"Perhaps William? Maybe Henry? Edwin?"

"Aye, Edwin. Emeline and Edwin. Has a ring, doesn't it?"

Sansa let her hair fall in her face, and she got down from atop him to lay down, "So it does."

She curled into his side, "This- these name changes rather, they won't change _us..._will they?"

"You will still be Sansa Stark, will you not?"

He felt as she lightly nudged his chest in agreement.

"And I will still be Sandor Clegane. Correct, my lady?"

"Well I should hope so," she joked.

"Then nothing shall change so long as we stay together."

Sansa noticed her belly no longer ached, and that her eyelids felt heavier with each passing moment. She brought her blanket up over her and scooted closer to Sandor.

"Goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight, Sansa."

Sandor wondered what it would be like to really be married to Sansa. He wondered what it would be like to fall asleep with her every evening, and to wake up with her every morning, he thought about the joy it would bring him to see her greet him after a day at work, and how truly blessed he would feel to see her someday have his children. He wondered what it would be like to do all these things without someone chasing them, without danger always at their backs. Soon he hoped he would know.

The next morning he woke up with her still in his arms, and he felt one step closer to the things he dreamed about.

As they rose again they began talking about their aliases. Sansa had devised a story about their marriage. He was a common worker, and she was a soldiers daughter. They were leaving the Seven Kingdoms to return to "Edwin's" home across the sea because they had gotten word his father had perished. They were going to use all their earning to return, and likely would not come back to the Seven Kingdoms until the war was ended.

Both felt almost completely confident in their cover story. Almost.

"There is one small dilemma."

"And what on earth could possibly be the problem?" Sansa asked, back perfectly straight upon horse back, the perfect lady.

Sandor looked her up and down, a hungry grin in place, "We have to make you...a bit for common."

Sansa's face paled in horror, and Sandor laughed.

"Aye! Now the fun truly begins!"


	15. Chapter 15

"More common? Why on earth should I need to...lower myself?"

"Ah, because you are no longer Sansa Stark, you are no longer Princess of the North, you are a lowly soldier's daughter."

Sandor grumbled in light humor as Sansa paled further.

"Well surely I cannot lose all of my manners. My dear friend Jeyne was not highly born and she still remained perfectly lady like."

"You may still act a lady...just not so much a lady. You can't expect to be treated like royalty any longer."

Sansa stared at him a moment and then smirked, "You think that is all I am Sandor Clegane?"

Sandor knew he was in too deep, "You know that isn't what I think."

She arched a Tully shaded eyebrow at him, "I will show you that I can do this...you shall see."

Sansa dug her heals lightly into her horse and took off into a slow canter, looking back at him a brazen grin on her face. Sandor halted his horse for a moment to marvel at the woman she had become in such a short time. She was really a wolf now, at least around him. He loped quickly after her, catching up in now time, and then slowed to match her stride.

"I have no doubt you will show me, Little Bird."

They rode slowly that day, both dreading reaching civilization more and more the closer it approached them. The fact Sandor and Sansa would have to let go of their former identities was both freeing and terrifying. Freeing in the sense once they escaped the land of the seven kingdoms, they were not as confined, restricted. They could walk together in the street, or look at each other longer than necessary and not be punished by prying eyes of could be spies. Terrifying in the sense that all they knew, all they had grown to become, would soon have to be let loose. They would keep who they truly were locked inside, away from not only themselves, but everyone else as well. Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane would someday reemerge, but not with any soon coming moon.

Wolves howled throughout the night, the deep sounds chilling Sansa with longing for her own wolf. It still hurt her to think of Lady, her precious young pup. Sansa and Lady were one of the same and Lady possessed the same characteristics of her master; a graceful air surrounded her in every action. Even while hunting Lady had seemed to perform it in a proper manner, blood never staining her fur. Sansa could not help but feel a sickening rise within her. If not for her daftness and pure stupidity Lady might still be alive and by her side. If only she had told the truth about Joffrey from the very beginning, if only she had understood what kind of person he was from the early signs...she could have saved herself and her family from the world of pain and suffering that now covered their existence. Sansa wondered if she could ever forgive herself.

Sandor watched Sansa deep in thought. She smiled, but soon those smiles turned to echos of pain showing clearly upon her face. Her delicate lips fell, her eyes became hollow, her posture slumped in defeat. He wished he could take her pain away. He wished he could rewind time and simply pluck the bad memories out of her timeline- but he couldn't, and Sandor knew that. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't change the past, he couldn't rewind it and reconstruct. What he could do was do everything in his power to make her future as perfect as possible, and that he would. Sandor would spend the rest of his life, no matter how long or short that may be, doing just that.

The day and night both were quiet. They silently watched each other, eyes open, mouths closed. They found speech was no longer necessary between the two of them while they set up camp, they already knew what the other was planning on doing. Sansa knew her place, and Sandor knew his, and every passing night their small fort was set up in less time.

Again the wolves howled and Sandor sat behind Sansa, letting her lean back against him in comfort.

Sandor gently brushed through her hair with his fingers, making sure even the littlest of knots were untangled. "Do they frighten you?"

"No...they comfort me almost. They remind me of home, of the North."

He stay silent at her response for a moment, he knew how much she longed to go home. He kissed the side of her face and wound his arms around her small waist, pulling her in.

"Someday I will take you back there, Sansa."

She nodded and they fell asleep in each others arms, knowing this was to be the last night they spent in the lands of their families.

The next morning Sansa awoke to everything already packed, a pleasant surprise she would grateful for. Her joints ached from sleeping on the cold ground and she stretched, yawning away the last of her exhaustion.

"If it were any other day I would scold you now for not waking me earlier to help you, but-"

"But?"

"But today I'm simply too tired to bother."

Sandor felt her forehead checking for signs of fever, "You aren't getting ill are you?"

His eyes filled with worry and Sansa smiled reaching for his face, "I'm afraid we are not thinking of the same kind of illness."

She knew her moonblood would be approaching soon, and that this lack of energy was likely just one symptom to come in the next week.

Sandor soon understood and kissed her head before turning back to his horse, tightening his girth and putting on his bridle.

"Today we're going to make it into the port, Little Bird. I want you to keep your hood up, and your eyes down, we can't risk getting caught so close to our escape from here."

She nodded and moved towards him. He was tense today, worried about more than just her health. She was weary as well, not only were they unaware if the news of her disappearance common knowledge, but they were unsure if a boat would even be for hire. Sandor had assured her that with enough coin and gold anything could be bought, and Sansa prayed to the old and the new that this would be the case today.

Again they rode slowly, but soon they reached the outskirts of the city. They halted their horses and stood upon a hill, looking down at the massive city below them. The bay was filled with boats of sizes Sansa had never before seen, and smells of city life began to surround them, clearing their sinuses of the clean air living in the forest had provided them with. Sansa felt her stomach fill with flutters, and Sandor grabbed the hilt of his sword preparing for the worst.

They had arrived, and they were now one step closer to their final destination. One step closer to their new home.


	16. Chapter 16

They rode down, among other travelers entering the city. The hustle and bustle of city life had become intimidating to both Sansa and Sandor after becoming so accustomed to the companionship of only each other.

Gulls flew throughout the air, occasionally gathering courage enough to swoop down and grab dropped food and nesting materials. Horns were blown, signaling the departure and arrival of trade ships. Colors, and smells, and sights Sansa had never seen, or even imagined, filled her senses. So much life consumed this city, so many interesting people filled it's boundaries. It was still part of the Seven Kingdoms, they were in Joffrey's hands, but here Sansa could feel rebellion swirling, mingling, pulsating through it's people. A cultural melting pot indeed, no one person looked like the other. Languages foreign to her were slung around like fish from boat to monger.

Sansa had to remind herself several times to keep her hood planted upon her head, and her eyes on the road in front of her. Every so often her sight would wander onto something exotic, and as much as we wanted to stop and explore, she knew the best thing she could do was follow Sandor's orders. He rode behind her through the streets, she could hear the heavy step of Stranger's hooves on the stone ground.

The streets became more narrow and filled, reminding Sansa of the riot. She shivered lightly, remembering the hostility that was thrown directly into her face that day. She no longer felt safe, and her pony seemed to sense her fear and began throwing her head.

"Shhhh girl, it's ok. Everything will be fine," she said, more to herself than her horse.

Sandor soon was at her side, and grabbed her horse's reins, deciding it would be better if she was to be led around at this point.

"It's so crowded," she said, loud enough so that he could hear, yet soft enough that no one else would.

"This is real life, Little Bird. No more castle walls for you to hide behind."

She bit her tongue instead of snapping at him. She knew she would say something influenced by her nerves, something she would regret.

"Well, _husband, _where do we go from here?"

They were in the square, completely surrounded, and boats no where in sight. Yet still Sansa could hear the gulls, could smell the sea; they had to be close.

"I'll ask someone," he muttered, obviously wishing it was unnecessary.

"Let me," she insisted,"I will be less noticeable with my hood drawn, more people will recognize you."

Sandor watched as she took possession back of her reins, and steered herself towards a merchant. He didn't like having to let her take care of their problems. He wanted to take care of her, he wanted to provide for her in every sense, and it frustrated him that he couldn't even if it was only to ask for directions. He didn't like her being around men without him either. He grumbled to himself, this day was making him nothing but grumpy. Sandor kept his eyes scanning the direct area around Sansa, looking for trouble. She did exactly as she said she would, keeping her face covered and conversation short.

"We're very close, as I suspected," she said, waving goodbye to the merchant as they left.

"New friend?"

"He's harmless," she scoffed.

"Every man tries to seem harmless at first."

Sansa looked over at him, a smirk on her lips. "I could say you seem jealous..."

"Jealous? Me?" his voice flat.

He watched as her face softened. "You have no reason to be, you know that."

"Do I, Little Bird?"

"Stop being a fool."

The conversation had ended as soon as the docks came into view. Sansa smiled at Sandor, and they both set their horses into a trot, urging them forward with their legs. Sansa had never seen so many ships in one place before, she has never seen so many ships period. Dozens upon dozens lined the long ship yard, sailors dotting the wooden docks.

Where would they start? Which boats went where? These were questions they should have already known. There didn't seem to be many law keepers, so staying anonymous should not be their biggest worry. Navigating the docks would however prove to be trickier. The dock was narrow, and with so many other men crowding them, Sansa felt as though both she and her house could fall over the edge at any moment.

"Pick a boat," Sandor said, eyeing the edges and scowling at those in his way.

"Any of them?"

"As long as they leave this side of the sea, yes, any of them."

Sansa perched herself higher off her saddle scanning the boats, the designs of the sails, the people on them. Some were not fit for their sailor's passage let alone hers, some were too extravagant...meaning nobels or royalty, someone that would surely know her would be aboard. They needed to be on something in the middle, not dangerous, not lush. Her eyes fell upon a boat with plain white sails, it's wood was finely maintained and gleaming in the sun, it's workers hard at work.

"There," she pointed, her mind already set, "I don't care where it goes. That's the boat."

"Let's see if they'll have us before go get all love sick with it, girl."

"You're the one that said money could buy anything," Sansa smiled.

He smiled back, Sandor likes how strong Sansa was becoming. She was no longer scared of him, and she no longer held her tongue. He wished he could hold her in his arms then, he wished he could kiss her, and show her all of the things he had been dreaming of doing with her. He had to remind himself that the time was close, that they would be acting as husband and wife, and they would be considered as such from now on...why not act like it to?

"I'll do that talking this time."

"Don't forget to use our _names_," Sansa emphasized, reminding him that they were now Emeline and Edwin, no long Sansa and Sandor to the public.

He nodded at her before tying Stranger up to a post, and walking across the plank that gave access to the boat. There were no words painted on the side, and Sandor had no way of knowing what the ship's name was.

He asked a deckhand to fetch the captain and waited near the bow looking down at the dark water swirling around the pilings. Sandor wasn't scared of water until he had seen what had happened at the battle. Fire on top of water. Fire was supposed to stop fire, but in this case it fueled it. He had to remind himself that wildfire wasn't something that was common, and that it was likely the water here would never see it.

"How can I help you?"

The voice shook him, and he turned to meet the captain. He was short, but had large arms, and broad shoulders. His voice was deep, his hair long, and his eyes as dark as night. Sandor had never seen this man before, and felt confident that by the accent he held he wasn't from the same shores, even lessening the chances he and Sansa would be recognized.

"My wife and I need to make passage to the free cities."

"I see. What makes you think I could help you?"

"I think you're just like any other man during this war. You want gold. I could pay you well."

"I can offer you quarters," he said looking over Sandor's shoulder, "as well as your horses. We're going to Pentos. You keep an eye of that wife of yours, there aren't any other women aboard."

Sandor growled, "None of your men will lay a finger upon her!"

The captain took a step back. "Welcome to the the finest ship in this port, the Adra. I am Chako, I am the captain."

"Dothraki?"

The man nodded, "Indeed. Adra means turtle; this boat may not be fastest, but it is sturdy and strong. It will see us to Pentos safely, I am sure of it...and you my friend, what might I call you?"

"Edwin. My wife is Emeline," he said as he shot Sansa a small smile, hoping to calm the anxiety he knew she must be feeling."

"What is bring you to my boat, why do you want to leave Westeros?"

Sandor stayed silent. The less this man knew about them, the safer their journey would be.

"Let's talk gold."

Sandor agreed to this and assured the man money was not an issue, that any reasonable price would be matched. Chako looked him over for a long moment, as though he were trying to get a grasp on Sandor's very soul. Determining whether or not he was to be trusted.

Chako waved over a worker, "Make sure this man and his wife are seen to their chambers when they return, and that their horses are taken care of now."

He then looked at Sandor, "We leave at daybreak tomorrow. I suggest you go back to the market and gather anything you may need, we may be on the water for weeks."

They shook hands, Sandor led the deckhand to the horses, and Sansa and he made their way back to the market on foot.

"So?" Sansa asked, searching Sandor's face for answers.

"We leave tomorrow morning. Though we do need supplies for our voyage."

Sansa took a deep breath and intertwined her fingers with Sandor's. "I'm nervous as well. I keep reminding myself that everything will work out because we will be together. And it will, won't it? We'll be happy and safe as long as we have each other?"

He turned toward her and kissed the top of her head. "Yes. As long as I have you...Yes."

They stood there in the road for a short while and then continued back into town to spend their last night in Westeros with their feet on solid ground.


	17. Chapter 17

Sansa was ill. She felt as though her entire body was being punished by a foreign sea god, and that it was set on making her miserable her entire journey. She could not stand, or eat, and she could barely keep down the water Sandor brought her. The sea possessed demonic qualities, and Sansa prayed each night that it would calm itself soon, for she did not know how much longer she could stand these conditions.

Sandor did whatever he could to comfort her. Luckily he did not feel the same effects, so he could take care of her, though he would switch places with Sansa in a heart beat to take away her pain. It hurt him to see her so miserable. Soon she grew uncommonly pale, and she was growing frail. They had one been on the water a few days yet, but she could hold nothing down, and could not walk above deck into the sun's warm rays.

Their cabin was small but sufficient. There was a bed, a desk, and a few scattered chairs, some candle holders. On the left side of the room there was a small circular window that allowed Sandor to look outside. Not that there was much to see; just blue ocean in every which way, an ocean that seemed never ending. Neither could complain of their accommodations, for the linens were fresh, and they received a hot meal twice daily, and clean water when they wished. That was surely better than how they had been living while on the run, though both missed the freedom it had allowed them. At first Sandor had given Sansa the bed solely, hoping she would be more comfortable in her state, and has opted to sleep on the floor. He had soon come to find that at night Sansa would shake as temperatures dropped, so he had begun sleeping beside her, and warming her with his arms.

During the day when the waves shook the boat and Sansa would grimace and cry he stayed by her side, until she slept, and then he would venture atop and talk with the crew some. They were travelers, they took what they could find, and sold it in places it was needed. Sandor questioned the legitimacy of their trade, whether or not they obtained their products legally, but was not one to voice these thoughts. He mostly kept to himself and visited Stranger, who seemed just as miserable as Sansa.

The seas were rough their first week, but almost as soon as the next began they calmed and the water began to resemble a still lake. Sansa's stomach began to handle foods and drink, her color came back, and Sandor felt relief flood over him. She was again healthy.

"I do believe my prayers are what are to thank for the better sailing conditions."

"I am glad you have your humor back," Sandor laughed.

Sansa scowled at him, though found herself no longer shocked by his occasional blasphemous remarks. "Well I am glad to be feeling better, regardless of how this pleasant weather came about."

Sandor had been sitting beside her, but now turned his body toward hers. He slowly and hesitantly raised his hand to brush the bangs off of her forehead, pausing to let his hand waiver on her cheek after.

"Sansa, I was so worried."

"It was just sea sickness. Nothing to worry about," she smiled, placing her hands over his large one, still on her cheek.

"You just got so ill, Little Bird, and I couldn't help you! I tried to comfort you, but you were so miserable, and-"

Sansa placed a finger on his lips, silencing him effectively. "You could have done nothing more than you did. It wasn't you, it was those damn waves."

Sandor smiled at her brash language. "Ah, the wolf in you is back as well."

He kissed her lips lightly, letting his hand make its way from her face to her neck. He ran his thumb over the soft skin, and moved to the back of her neck bringing her closer to him. The kiss intensified and both let out soft sounds of satisfaction. Sansa let her hands move under his tunic and onto his chest. She could feel his strength and his warmth, she wanted to be closer. So much closer.

Sandor pulled back from her, breathing heavily, eyes hazy. "Not here. Too many men. It wouldn't be honorable."

Sansa sighed, stook up, straightened her skirts, and began to speak a fierce look on her face, "Must you always act so honorable?"

"I'm to be righteous for your sake, not mine_." _

"I just want to be with you! Gods, Sandor!"

Sandor began laughing loudly, as he rolled over into the bed and clutched his stomach.

"What is so funny!?"

"It's just that- it's that the roles are so reversed in this moment. Now you know what it's like! Aye, girl? Frustrating, isn't it?"

Sansa stomped her foot on the wooden floor. "I demand you stop laughing at me. At once."

"Or what?"

Sansa looked at him stunned. "Or I'll...I'll get you!"

"Will you?" Sandor mocked, rising from the bed. "Or will I be the one to get _you_?"

Both realized this fight had promptly transformed into a game.

Sansa gave him a flirting look, swirling the bottom of her skirts as she swayed. "Only if you can catch me."

Sansa made for the door, but she knew how quickly Sandor moved, and how quickly he would stop her from leaving. He grabbed her around the waist and twirled her as she threw her head back with laughter. Sandor could still not comprehend that she was here with him at times, especially times when she was like this- when she was happy. He watched her in wonderment. Sandor knew she was real because he was holding her- he was happy as well.

He stopped spinning and set her down on her feet, still supporting her so she wouldn't topple over in dizziness.

"You know I want to be with you just as badly," he whispered, "but on a boat with all these lonely men? I'm not sure I could protect you from all of them. Soon we will restart our lives as husband and wife somewhere new, and we will have plenty of time to...love each other then."

Sansa leaned against his chest, "I know. I'm just..."

"Horny."

Sansa blushed and hid her face.

"Nothing to be embarrassed of, Little Bird. I can't wait to show you all the things that I've been waiting to do to you."

Sansa's blush deepened still.

Sandor walked around her, his hand still on her waist. His hand then moved as he walked, brushing the small of her back, her breast, her hips, she closed her eyes savoring the warm feeling his contact brought to her.

He stood on front of her now. "You want it that bad, Sansa?"

She nodded, swallowing hard.

His stepped closer to her, one of his legs moving between hers. She moved her body up, rubbing herself on him. He nipped her neck, and brought his hands to her breasts, and Sansa's head fell back as she moved against him again.

She felt his lips move up to her ear. "It's time to break your fast," he whispered, and evil grin playing his lips and he removed himself from her proximity and moved towards the door. "Come along, before all the good food is gone."

Sansa stood in shock, her mouth hanging open, and her shoulders slumped in defeat. Had she just been...teased? She had. Sansa was not pleased, but a giggle erupted from her mouth all the same. She had just been played by Sandor Clegane. _That bastard!_

She left the confinements of their quarters and breathed in the fresh, salty air that she had been hidden away from the past few days.

She spotted the captain and approached him.

He grinned as he saw her. "You are feeling much better then?"

"Oh yes, Chako. I'm so glad for the calm seas today. I was fearful I would never be able to leave my bed! Now that I see what I have been missing, I am truly grateful."

Sansa looked out at the endless blue. She felt so small here, so vulnerable to the water. This sea was powerful, and she had only gotten a taste of what it was capable of. Her expression fell a bit, as she looked back at the man in front of her.

"Don't worry, bad weather is past us now."

"I do hope. Ser, I do wonder if you know where my husband as disappeared to. He said it was time for the morning meal."

"Yes. I will take you to him."

Chako offered Sansa his arm, and they headed towards the front of the boat.

"Might I ask you a question, ser?"

"Only if you call me Chako," he smiled.

"Chako, why do you work on the water? Does it not scare you?"

"It did at first. My first trip was as rough as your first trip. I was sick, oh so sick, but my captain urged me to work. The more I worked, the wore I forgot about the sickness, and the more I realized the beauty," he led to to the side of the watercraft and pointed over the edge.

"Dolphins!" Sansa exclaimed, gripping the railing and leaning forward slightly.

"Only some of the majestical things you will see on this journey. Wait until you see the sunset and sunrise. This sea is the world's own mirror, it reflects everything right back into the heavens."

Sansa watched as the dolphins swam away, their sleek bodies moving through the water with grace. She smiled when they flipped into the air, almost as if they were saying goodbye, she send a silent farewell their way in return.

"Let's get you to that husband of yours, yes?"

She agreed, and followed Chako as he led her to the temporary eating hall. Tables were set up, some completely filled with men, some covered in food. She scanned the crowd for Sandor, almost panicking at his absence before she felt an arm at her waist.

"Hungry?" he whispered into her ear as he led her to a smaller table already set with two plates.

"Famished."

Nothing of any splendor was served, but after days of not eating the food was graciously accepted. Sansa ate until she was completely stuffed, and did not take notice of the looks the men gave her concerning her rude eating habits.

"Perhaps I seem less a lady now?"

"I think you certainly startled the lot," he grinned, looking over the men that were still shooting them stares. "I do have one final meal item, though."

"I couldn't possibly, Sa-Edwin," she had luckily caught her mistake before she had let out his entire name.

"Oh, I think you could make room for this one, Little Bird."

Sansa held out her hand uneasily.

"Close you eyes."

Sansa obliged, though she didn't want to. Soon she felt a small circular object placed into her hand.

"Open them."

Inside her hand was the one food Sansa always had room for, her favorite food. A lemon cake. She did not know how he had gotten ahold of it, but she was so pleased that he had. "How did you get this?"

"Payed off the kitchen wench," he shrugged, trying to play coy, though she knew he was pleased with himsel.

"I hope you didn't spend too much just for a silly cake."

"She only had a few lemons left, so it took some convincing, but I wanted you to have it after being sick for so long."

"Thank you," she said, before taking a small bite, relishing in the rich flavor she knew would only last so long.

"Anything for you, my wife," he answered, a small smile on his lips.


	18. Chapter 18

Sansa was finding that she was no longer shocked when Sandor showed kindness to others. Since leaving King's Landing, it seemed as though a piece of armor covering his heart was shredded away with each passing day. It was as though The Hound was departing, and Sandor Clegane was emerging in full. Sandor smiled, and laughed, and sang with the crew, he interacted and did not shield himself from the group. The closer they got to their final destination, the more relaxed he became, and the more Sansa felt her feelings for him grow. She knew beneath it all he had always been there hiding within, for she had seen this new Sandor Clegane even in his darkest of days. Now Sandor no longer hid this side, he embraced it fully.

Luckily, they were already halfway across the sea, and nothing but clear skies and smooth waters were to meet them until they next reached shore. Instead of fearing sea-sickness, Sansa began feeling anxiety about what would come once they reached their new home. Would she actually be able to act as Sandor's wife? She had trained to be a wife, mother, and lady her entire life, but would she please him? Could she please him?

She laid in bed thinking these thoughts, making herself a mess in the process. She turned her face towards Sandor's chest, curing her hands against him, and laying her head near his heart.

"Sandor?"

He mumbled in response, clearly on the edge of sleep.

Sansa hesitated. She wanted Sandor to take her seriously, as an adult, but would he if she showed such childish insecurity.

"Spit it out, Sansa."

"Do you think I will...do you think I _could _make a good wife to you? I don't know if it will become me, what if I do nothing right, what if you come to hate me?"

"I could never hate you. Is this what you've been worrying about? Why you're so troubled?"

She nodded, afraid to meet his eye.

"Look at me, Sansa," he said softly, his hand on her chin. "You will make me happy no matter the situation. We could be back in that forest, freezing, and I would still be happy if you were beside me."

"Do you mean it?"

She could feel his hoarse laugh come from his chest. "Of course I mean it. A hound will never lie..."

Sansa relaxed against him, she should have known better than to doubt him.

"And you, Sandor? What type of husband will you be?"

"One that loves you dearly. One that protects you. One that bows at your every command."

"My every command? Do you not wish to make any commands of your own?"

"My only wish is to make you happy," he responded, pushing his body against hers firmly.

Sansa's heart began to pound a fraction harder, and she drew her breathes more slowly hoping to resist his temptations. Sandor moved his body down several inches, so their faces were now at equal heights, his breath brushing her face. She tilted her head so he could have easier access to her neck, and relished in the pleasure she felt when his lips began caressing the sensitive area of her jaw.

She knew he would stop when things began getting too heated, and she didn't think she could take his pushing her away if she got anymore excited than she was in that moment. She reached her hands between them, and pushed him away.

"We must stop, I can't take this teasing."

"Who's to say I was teasing? I hadn't even begun!"

"You said you would not be involved with me in any of that sort while on this boat!"

The smirk she loved played his lips, a smirk that was only present when Sandor had something up his sleeve.

"What is this look for? What don't I know?"

"Do you remember that night in the forest? When I offered to show you something, but we chose to sleep instead?"

Sansa gulped, and nodded quickly. She thought she knew what was coming, her maids had whispered about it when they thought she wasn't listening. She knew it made your body arch in pleasure, and that it was possibly the closest thing to heaven on earth.

"But won't people hear?" she questioned, nervous not only for the act, but for the possibility that everyone on the boat would know.

"If I do it right."

"You said it was too dangerous!"  
>Sandor contemplated his words. "I want to make you feel good. I want you to see how much I appreciate you, and right now I don't have many other gifts I can give. These men are not a threat to us. Trust me. Besides, I've been told I'm good at this."<p>

Sansa shrugged herself back from him. That last comment had struck a cord. Sansa didn't like the idea of other woman with Sandor, but his past was unavoidable, and men were known to visit the many brothels of King's Landing. This didn't exclude Sandor because of his face or reputation. "How many others?"

Sandor laid his head on the bed away from her, focusing on the wall.

"Sandor!"

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"Well I know I'm not the first for you, but you're the first for me...in every sense."

"Not much you can't buy with gold and silver, Sansa. You can buy a horse, a house, even a woman's touch for the evening," he took a breath before continuing, "You can't buy love. What I shared with those wenches is nothing compared to what I imagine we will share together, I can promise you that. This is just as much a first for me, as it is for you. I've never been with anyone I've cared about, and I'm hopeless."

"Not hopeless..."

"Perhaps clueless, than."

"I'm not so sure...the lemon cakes have given you significant lead way in all categories. You were not so clueless when you situated that ordeal."

He turned his head to meet her face and smiled. "That was pretty sly on my part."

Sansa rested her head against his chest, leaning her lips against his skin softly. Sandor closed his eyes and savored the feeling, storing the warmness her contact always brought a place deep inside his soul, saving it for when he felt most cold in life. She moved and positioned herself on top of him, still kissing his skin, just moving slightly upward towards his neck. Sandor grabbed her hips, and then let go of them just as fast when a knock at their door sent Sandor one way, and Sansa the other.

Sandor strode over, already irritated by the disruption. "What?" he grouched at a weary deckhand, obviously nervous in his presence.

"Captain said to warn you and your lady...another boat is approaching. Could get quite messy, though we can't be sure yet. We weren't expecting anyone, so this is a surprise."

Sandor grunted in response, and shoved the door back in the boy's face. His easy going persona was now shed, and a warrior stance was back at the surface.

Though Sandor seemed strong and confident as ever, Sansa was already shaking in fear, overwhelmed by thoughts of the Lancasters finding her. What would happen if it was a Lancaster ship approaching them? Was it possible that their armies had tracked them down? Would they really travel so far just to capture Sansa?

She seemed to come back into focus as Sandor shook her frail shoulders, and it was then she heard his orders.

"Bolt the door behind me, and hide under the bed. Do not let anyone in until you hear my signal. I will knock thrice against the door and that is when you know all is safe. If there is one knock, do not open the door. If there are two knocks, do not open the door. If there are more than three, do not dare unbolt that door. Do you understand?" His voice was collected and calm, though he ensued authority well. Sansa did not reply, a glazed look crossing her features, and he shook her again. "Do you understand, Sansa?"

"We were so close to having it all. We were almost there...now it's lost, everything is lost."

Sandor wiped his large thumb across her cheek, as she mumbled her incoherent thoughts as though she were lost in a field of fogginess. "If anything, it's pirates or raiders; nothing we can't hold off."

"What if it isn't? What if you get hurt? What if they find me and take me back?"

"I will always protect you, Sansa. We will get what we deserve, and reach the new land together. We will start our new lives and forget all that has past, all that haunts us during the nights. This is just a small obstacle. One we will pass."

"Promise me you will come back. Promise you won't leave me."

Sandor stood, a grin on his face as he reached for his sword that was resting against the wall behind her. "I promise."

He kissed her hard, and then began walking towards the door, only stopping briefly to whisper "I love you" before closing it behind him.


	19. Chapter 19

Sansa barred the door quickly, hearing the heavy thud of running footsteps coming from all directions above deck. The footsteps joined the rhythm of her heartbeat, _beat beat beat, _and she was consumed by the sound.

She went back to the bed, bringing her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. There was no use trying to hold back the tears at this point, and her body was being racked with sobs that she tried muffling by biting into her fist. Small droplets of blood fell from where her teeth had met her skin, but the pain was not registering.

Yells sounded, the sounds seemingly present directly outside her door, and she bolted under the bed, inching her way as close to the cabin's wall as possible, making herself nearly invisible to anyone that glanced into the small room.

Her mind was reeling, a dark haze of terror claiming her thoughts. Were they there for her? Was Joffrey the one to whom the boat belonged? Would Sandor be recognized? Would he be captured? Would he be killed? The thought of losing him at this point, the only one who had shown her true kindness and love the past year, brought a strong ache to the center of her chest. The outcome of losing him would be heartbreak, that much she was certain of.

She prayed to the god and the new, more fiercely than she had ever prayed before. She poured her entire soul into her prayer, begging for his survival, her tears now soaking her dress. Sansa knew something had been watching over them, for without the help of some higher power, she couldn't believe that they had survived even this far purely on luck. Whatever had been helping them, leading them, would come this time too.

She wished Lady was here with her, to protect her when Sandor couldn't be beside her. Lady would make the oncoming of this rival ship seem but a breeze, a minor flaw on an otherwise lovely road. As Sansa hid under the bed, her side pressed tightly to the wall, her body still shaking with fear, she longed for the warmth of her dire wolf beside her. She decided to send up a prayer to Lady too.

She knew the ship had been boarded by the enemy, and she could hear the loud thumps of what could only be a body falling in defeat, death having already come and gone. The gritty sound of steel swords clashing together was abundant, and she could almost imagine the sight of the battle raging all around her, just outside the wooden confines that hid her.

She wondered who was at advantage. The crew that she had come to care for was composed of large, burly men, all set and strong. However, how was she to know what kind of men occupied the other ship? Were they trained, or self taught? Armored or clad only in cloth? Did they have superior weapons, or did they rely on their numbers?

Though Sansa had been portrayed as foolish and dull in King's Landing she had paid close attention- she had listened to the people, the soldiers, the king, and she had quickly learned that all details mattered when it came to war. Every aspect of a battle could be strictly analyzed, and one small error could cause great death or victory. She hoped for both Sandor's sake and her own that the crew had a well planned strategy when it came to enemies invading their ship,otherwise they might soon be all meeting their death.

Air seemed to flow less freely under the bed, and her breathing became harsh sounding and deep. Another bout of panic set in, and she tried her hardest to push away her fright and instead embrace the calm.

Old Nan had once told her a story of a fair maiden from a far away place. She came to the North unclothed, her hair silver, and her frightened eyes gold. The maiden was the first of her kind to ever walk the Seven Kingdoms, and though she was scared of the foreign land filled with confusing concepts and people, she held her head high and proved her strength. She gained the love of the people around her with her fearlessness, never afraid to help another, or stand up for what was right.

Sometimes when Sansa was hurt or upset or damaged in some way she would think of the maiden with the precious colored features and she found herself regaining strength she thought was all but lost. Huddled and hiding in place far from home, she thought of the story again; her breathing became normal once again, the anxiety seeming to shed from her veins.

Clarity now in mind Sansa realized she was not acting as though she were the maiden of the story, but was instead behaving as a girl who needed to be rescued and she didn't quite like the sensation helplessness brought- not anymore. Sansa knew Sandor had hidden several daggers around the cabin incase of situations like this. From where she laid she scanned the room the best she could, hoping her view point from down below would reveal one of the weapons. Surely enough tucked under the bed stand she saw a leather sheath, the handle of the small knife almost glistening, beckoning her.

Sansa glanced towards the door, making sure it was in fact still intact and sturdy. She nudged a bit towards the nightstand, reaching as far as she could and at last she just barely grasped the end of the sheath with her finger tips, carefully she she brought the delicate but deadly dagger tightly to her chest. Sansa would not be unarmed, and would not stand for defeat if death came her way. She'd have Sandor properly train her when this was said and done, but now she would use it the best she could if her life came face to face with the possibility of her demise.

She felt a sense of confidence surge through her, an emotion that she wasn't quite accustomed to. She no longer felt so intimidated by the fighting, for if worst came tow worst she would not go down without a fight.

Sansa waited, and waited, and waited. No knocks came, though the sounds of battle had already cut off. Perhaps a resolution had been made, or they had simply retreated, the crew simply cleaning up the mess of what was left. But if this was the case why hadn't Sandor come to her immediately, why was he allowing her doubt to build? Again worry brewed inside her, but not for herself, only for Sandor. She was tempted to unbar the door, and sneak a glance at the outside deck, but knew better and kept her place though the wait was impatiently endured.

The knocks came at last. Not one, not two, but three. Three firm knocks, one after another; his signal. She easily came out from under the bed, being careful not to make a sound incase the person outside wasn't in fact Sandor. There was a small peephole in the door, an eyelet of the wood that had been carved out with a nail, she would use this to identify who was outside. Sansa made a far loop around the hole, making sure not to show herself through it incase someone was standing watch. She'd learn to become distrustful on her journey, and was going to be 100% sure it was Sandor waiting on the other side before opening it. She knew he expected nothing short of this precautionary attitude.

She quickly stole a glance, and saw him hunched, blood covering his clothing, small tears here and there where the blade had slashed him. She opened the door with haste, drawing him in, immediately locking the door once again, not even stealing a look of the damage the others faced.

Sansa led him to the bed, being sure to cover the blankets with an extra sheet before pushing him down to sit. She checked for deep wounds, but finding none settled before him.

His eyes were frantic, haunted, and his sword fell from his grasp. He met her gaze, a pleading need for comfort evident in his stare. She kneeled before him taking his hands in her own, feeling them tremble she sighed. She knew that a day of killing would have effected him strongly after turning away so many of his bad habits. The Hound was a killer, Sandor Clegane she was not so sure of.

"There was once a fair maiden with silver hair, and eyes of gold..."

She began her story. Sansa would calm him, if only for a little while.


End file.
